Fragments
by odairrieres
Summary: Strange recollections haunt both the rising Deatheater and Order member as the war wages on after Harry Potter's death at the Battle of Hogwarts. Despite being on different sides, and fighting to kill one another, will simmering feelings from an unknown past stop them in their tracks?
1. Chapter 1

"_Harry Potter is dead!" A dark laugh echoed through the silence, and shackles seemed to materialize out of nowhere. They clung to his ankles, holding him in place as everything around him began to crumble. He stared at Potter, eyes closed and body unmoving. He looked, for all the world, asleep but Draco knew better than to think that. He wasn't stupid. That pathetic boy was dead, and now he was going to be buried under his lovely little school. The corpse that lay in the courtyard would probably never leave that spot. The place it cluttered used to be so lively; students that he loathed ran around and threw playful spells at the columns or at friends between classes. Now, it would play as the grave of every wizard and witch here that didn't adhere to Voldemort's demands._

_He was fucking screwed._

_Why the hell did Potter let himself get killed? He was supposed to be the chosen one, the wizard that killed the Dark Lord and annoyed Malfoy. He was supposed to clean up this mess so that Draco didn't have to choose a side, didn't have to carry this burden on his shoulders. But, no. The blimey idiot had to go and get himself killed. Dead. He was rotting right now as the snake in front of Hogwarts gave his final offer to those who weren't allied with him yet._

"_Draco."_

_Please, someone tell him that wasn't his name being spoken. He glanced at the person closest to him: Luna Lovegood, like that loon had been the one to utter his name. She didn't seem like she had._

"_Draco, come." His heart lurched, cringed. Would the damn thing just die already?_

_He glanced over to where his mother and father were, saw the outstretched hand of his mum, the unraveling sanity in Lucius's eyes. He contemplated ignoring the calls, of staying where he was, of doing what was right. But what exactly was right? Leaving his mother with that disgrace of a wizard? If he stayed on this side, Narcissa would have to watch him die. Because that's what happened to those who tried to play the hero: they died. He was no good to anyone dead, especially not himself._

_There was a sand-like quality to his throat when he moved his right foot towards his mother. A glass-like quality when he moved his left. Every pair of eyes were on him as he left the dead to meet their maker, knowing there were a pair he didn't want to make contact with. Not now, especially not now._

_And as soon as he'd found his way to his family, hell's gates opened and the devil began to dance on the living._

-3 months after the Battle of Hogwarts-

"Fleur!" Hermione called, out of breath but smiling all the same as she came barreling through the front door of Shell Cottage. The small seaside home had been expanded; rooms added here and there and reflecting lovingly the way the Burrow once looked before it fell to Bellatrix Lestrange's attack only a day after their defeat at Hogwarts. The cottage's beige walls and warm, comforting furniture now held the name of the Order headquarters. Being inside the city of London was too dangerous now, deatheaters and dementors alike cluttering the streets in search for the last of the rebellion. What Voldemort and his followers didn't know was that the Order was no longer scrounging for members. Swiftly, their numbers were increasing as the darkness spread through Europe over the past three months. The Order found allies in more and more countries, beseeching the end of Voldemort's destruction.

One of the Order's allies now sat, perched and refined on the raggedy couch in the front room with his companions. His warm eyes looked over Hermione and a gentle smile lifted the chiseled lines of his face. Viktor Krum had flocked over to her and the rebellion's aid as soon as word had reached Bulgaria of the Battle of Hogwarts, bringing with him a fleet of ships loaded with wizards and witches who would gladly fight alongside the Order for their cause.

Hermione's flushed cheeks glared red at the smoldering look in his eyes and she briefly sent a smile towards him. Turning back to her friend, Hermione tried to finish catching her breath long enough to speak coherently. Dainty hands were rubbing at the frazzled witch's arms, helping her calm down, and not a harsh word was shared. The relationship between the two witches had flourished through the months, despite constantly being cramped in the same place together. Everyone here had been united to find the means to one end, and that was enough to settle any differences; especially the materialistic ones that had kept Fleur and Hermione from ever contemplating a friendship. Now, they were each other's confidants, along with Ginny and Luna who were, unfortunately not there to hear the news Hermione carried.

"Kingsley," Hermione gasped. "Kingsley, he's here-"

"What?" The entire room erupted before the witch could finish, Fleur included. Already, eyes were searching for the invisible wizard, who'd been considered dead for two weeks after a failed attack against deatheaters at the Ministry. Many who were clustered about in the front room now had been there, since it was no small job. The Ministry, technically, was no more. It had fallen completely the same day Hogwarts had. Deatheaters controlled from within, many employees having fled their jobs in fear. It was all reflected in the building, from the monument of supremacy over muggles in the foyer to the chill that swallowed the Ministry whole.

It had been a wonder any of them had made it out after an informant on their side warned the deatheaters beforehand of the attack. It was Aberforth Dumbledore and Kingsley who'd held the deatheaters back as Hermione and the rest of the Order retreated. Neither had been heard from since, until now.

"No, listen!" Hermione cried out, finally regaining her composure. She stood straight, trying to grasp control of the situation as it quickly spiraled downwards. Everyone was talking, at the same time, and a few members were bickering over the possibility of Kingsley being alive.

She was turning red again, this time in frustration, as she called for them to quiet down.

"Please, quiet! Everyone, settle do-QUIET!" And still, on they spoke as if she wasn't even there. As always.

Finally, she pulled out her wand and expunged the light in the room, engulfing them in darkness with the exception of the small amount of sun peeking through the window coverings.

Immediately, there was silence. As soon as she was sure there wouldn't be another breath drawn without her condoning it, Hermione turned the lights back on and cleared her throat.

"I didn't mean here, as in within the premises," Hermione corrected, to their dismay. Fleur and Krum looked attentively at her, though it seemed they already knew what she was going to say. It was written in the grimaces on their faces.

"Kingsley is being held by deatheaters for interrogation-"

"Where?" A voice called from the stairs. Hermione turned, already scowling from being interrupted again. When she caught a red flash of ruffled hair, though, the scowl swiftly vanished. She was, by now, used to Ron's impatience. And apparently, he knew it too; he flinched under her scrutiny.

"Malfoy manor," was all Hermione had to say before an uproar began once more in the room.

"Bloody hell, are you kidding me?" Seamus blurted out, his face scrunched up in disbelief as he flicked over a chess piece he'd been moving on coffee table's game and glowered at a wall. Neville, who he'd been playing was frowning too.

"Are you sure, 'Moine?" He asked, hoping as she did that maybe, just maybe she'd been misinformed. But, so far, her leak from London had been nothing but truthful about the movements of deatheaters.

"Yeah, how can you trust that this information is true? You don't even know who your informant is," Fleur chimed in, though Hermione could see her friend working it out in her head.

"And why wouldn't it be? Kingsley was, without a doubt, the head of the Order after the Battle. Where else would he be except under the dark lord's watch? They'll be trying, he'll be trying, to get information out of Kingsley about our whereabouts and numbers," Hermione reasoned with those who doubted the news. "If he's alive, if you can even call it that, where else would he be?"

"Hermione, perhaps he is dead," Viktor said. "Perhaps this is a trap."

"No. This same person warned us about Grimmauld being attacked the week after Hogwarts. If whoever this is wanted us dead, we would have been so a very long time ago. Trust, Viktor. Trust, Fleur, Neville, everyone! Trust is all we have now, in only a few, and if we lose that, we're already defeated. We need to trust that Kingsley is alive, before our doubt leads to his death. We've already lost too many."

All her friends' eyes were on her, Ron's the most piercing as they all relived the deaths of their loved ones.

"Kingsley is a prisoner now because he trusted the wrong people," Another voice spoke out, Ginny having materialized in the kitchen doorway with her parents in tow, after picking up supplies for the group. She still looked so fragile, her skin the color of porcelain, but her eyes were strong. "The only thing we have going for us is the ability to distrust anything and everything. We need more proof. You, of all people, should know that believing isn't enough."

"Ginny," Hermione called out, but her friend was already walking past her as a baby's cry from upstairs required the Weasley's attention. Hermione sighed, more exhausted than she was when she'd first rushed in with her owl's post.

A warm hand landed on her shoulder as the crowd dispersed, discussing the possibility of doing a rescue mission. Hermione melted into the touch and leaned back on the able body behind her.

"She's still healing," Ron tried his hand at comforting as he rubbed her shoulder. He was actually getting better at it over time. Being surrounded by hormonal women in wartime seemed to do strange, wonderful things to men. They really had no choice but to play the calming role, or face the wrath of crazed lunatics. At least, when it came to Hermione and a few others that seemed to be the case.

"I know," Hermione sighed as she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. The soft rhythm of her friend's heartbeat helped sooth her jumbled nerves.

"Do you really trust what this person is telling you?" He asked cautiously, probably already regretting asking such a trigger-happy person that question. Was she really that catatonic lately?

With a small smile, Hermione opened her eyes to look up at Ron's contorted face. "Ron. I'm not going to hex you," she laughed as his muscles relaxed. "But, yes I do. Whoever this is, they want to help. And after everything Snape did, how could you even ask?"

"I know, I know but," Ron trailed off, frowning. Hermione leaned away from Ron's body and turned to face him, returning the frown.

"What?" She probed. He grimaced, his hand, naked without her shoulder under it, reached for his neck and rubbed at it. "Ron," she warned.

"Not everyone is Snape, 'Mione," he rushed out, flinching back automatically as Hermione puffed up.

"I know that, Ron. Do you think I'm an idiot? Because I assure you, Ron Weasley, that I am not. He-"

"-or she," he interrupted with a weak smile. Hermione's glare wiped the smile right off.

"_or she_, has saved our lives multiple times. Now, he or she is trying to save another life and you, of all people, still doubt the sincerity? I know we can't just jump in and save him, Ron, but we can't leave him for dead either. If there's even a possibility that Kingsley is alive and that my information is true, then we have the obligation to rescue him. Bloody hell, Ron. Kingsley sacrificed himself for the cause and you all just want to let him rot?"

For some reason, Hermione couldn't see. Was her vision going?

"'Mione… please don't cry," Ron softly said and the touch of his hand against her cheek snapped her back into reality from her rant.

Frantically, she wiped at her eyes until she could see Ron's concerned face. She scowled at him, frustrated with him but mostly with herself for letting her feelings resurface once again.

"I won't let yet another person give up their life to that monster for us. We're going to devise a plan and we're going to save him." And with that, she was off, trailing up the stairs and following the sound of a distant murmur of a lullaby.

The floor panels creaked softly under her sneakers as Hermione moved about the second floor, her eyes locked on the light blue room at the far left corner. There was a soft song coming from inside, the person attached to the melody's voice moving back and forth in front of the doorway with a bundle in her arms.

"_My sweet dove,_

_the lone willow yearns for love._

_Up high above the valley,_

_it admires you and me._

_The roots that hold it down,_

_To us it does not bound."_

The small smile on Ginny's face held the lively baby's attention, the beaming eyes of Teddy Lupin captivated by the red hair of his godmother. A tiny, chubby hand reached up for a strand and they both giggled as the long tendrils tickled his nose.

A creak from beyond broke the bond momentarily as Ginny turned to catch the spying witch at the door. The ghost of a smile lingered for a moment before faltering and vanishing from sight. This, Hermione reminded herself painfully, was the norm since Harry's death.

"Ginny," Hermione started warily. Ginny's was already shaking her head, giving Teddy all of her attention and casting Hermione aside. "Ginny, please. I know you're still hurting, but I need your support," she begged, moving into the room as her friend put Teddy back into his crib. He complained by scowling and tugging on Ginny's sleeve, grabbing a finger and putting it into his mouth. The tentative smile reappeared.

"Hermione, you can trust blindly all you want but I'm not going to say this is okay. You know better," Ginny commented, still not looking at her. Hermione scowled and moved to the crib. Teddy, ecstatic, grabbed Hermione's fingers with his other greedy hand and began to toy with the two women, using their fingers as puppets. His blue hair turned bright pink, a bittersweet reminder of his mother's vivacious personality.

"Do I, Ginny? There are only a handful of people I trust fully, and I don't take any of this lightly so, yes, I guess I do know better. I know what I'm doing and it's not trusting blindly. Just because I don't have a name doesn't mean this entire thing is faulty," she murmured, not wanting to unsettle the baby or, worse, Ginny.

Teddy was now trying to connect the two fingers, gaining a humored smile from both of his ladies.

"It has nothing to do with a name. It's just that," Ginny sighed, pulling her finger out of Teddy's grasp and laying him down. With a flick of her wand, his mobile came to life, little dragons created by George circling above his head as she lured him to sleep with a gentle rubbing of his stomach.

"What?" Hermione probed.

"It's just that I don't want you to get your hopes up about this, is all."

"You think he's dead, don't you?" Hermione guessed.

"Isn't that what tends to happen to those who sacrifice themselves? They die. Now, you're about to do exactly that but you're going to pull in everyone else. We're only just starting to regain structure after the Ministry, after Hogwarts. People are still mending wounds, still trying to mourn. We'll just end up walking into our graves, and Kingsley will be greeting us on the other side."

Now that Teddy was nodding off, Ginny was trying to make an escape. Hermione advanced, blocking the doorway to the redhead's annoyance. "Hermione, you're being ridiculous. Let me through," she grumbled, crossing her arms. The other witch mimicked her, arms crossed and poised to argue until she got her way.

"Ginny, you're not the only one hurt by what happened."

"Really? Because by the looks of it, I am," she retorted, the blaze in her eyes a warning for Hermione to back off. But, it was also an encouragement. For once, Hermione saw life in her friend. That was all she wanted.

"Some of us just express it differently, you ignorant twat. I thought that you, out of everyone here besides myself and Ron, would want to avenge Harry's death but instead you're turning into a hermit!"

A small gurgle from the crib had Hermione biting back her exclamation.

"For the love of Merlin, shut your mouth!" Ginny hissed as she pulled Hermione out of Teddy's room. She closed the door behind her, and commenced glaring at Hermione. "And I am _not_turning into a hermit."

"Are too."

"Are not."

"Are too."

"Are not!" Ginny howled. Her mouth gaped and Hermione smirked. There was silence.

And then there was a horrendous cry from within the room behind them. Ginny's eyes narrowed into slits.

"I swear, I'm going to get you for this, Hermione," she growled before going back into the bedroom.

"Looking forward to it," Hermione chimed, pleased with herself as Ginny flipped her off before turning her attention fully on the baby.

* * *

"So, I heard the fight earlier," Ron chimed as he plopped down on the couch beside Hermione while she continued to scribble out a horrible illustration of the Malfoy Manor based on Luna's descriptions from her time in captivity there a few months ago. Viktor, sitting on the armchair opposite the three of them gave a chuckle.

"I think everyone did," he remarked, quickly ducking his head behind a spell book when Hermione looked up. She glared at the book's bindings before turning to Ron.

"Do you think she's improving any?" Hermione asked.

"…and there was this peculiar picture just outside the basement, a painting of a woman with eyes that didn't line up," Luna rambled on. Hermione raised a hand in her direction.

"Luna, hold on please."

"She is, maybe. I mean, before she'd just ignore us. Now she's talking. Well, yelling mostly but that's the sister I'm used to having. Actually, I'm starting to miss the whole ignoring part," Ron grumbled.

"Oh, are you?" Both Ron and Hermione shot up, doe-eyed as they spotted Ginny by the staircase. She walked towards them and sat down in the other seat beside Viktor.

"Um, um, uh. Hermione was just, um," Ron stammered, finally shutting up when Hermione stepped on his foot ever so discreetly.

"Ron was just being stupid," Hermione spoke up, her eyes studying Ginny carefully. The redhead raised an eyebrow, humored by the caution with which her friends proceeded.

"When isn't he being stupid?" She replied. Hermione, face suspicious, morphed into a smile. Ginny cleared her throat, the silence in the room growing more and more with the sheer normality of her discussion.

Even Luna was, for once, quiet.

"Well then, I see where I stand in all of this," Ron grumbled, mocking a frown. And like that, they were all laughing. Ginny smiled unsurely, gingerly as her eyes locked on Hermione.

"Welcome back," Hermione mouthed, clinging onto her friend's brief show of joy.

And for a moment, everything seemed alright.


	2. Chapter 2

_Every part of him was cold. It didn't matter where she had tried; it was all cold. Voldemort had consumed her friend and left him here, soulless, dead, and freezing like everything else the devil touched._

_Now, she was trying to escape the frost, begging for warmth even if it came in the form of the fire that devoured her home, their home, Harry's home. The courtyard was a mass grave now, bodies littering the cobblestones. Columns crumbled under the pressure of curses, pieces the size of stars falling and crushing the dead and the living alike. Trolls smashed thoughtlessly at the walls of Hogwarts, at the doors as those who tried to flee made a last ditch effort to seal off their sanctuary from the darkness that dared to violate it._

_Students ran to reach the doors before they could shut them all the way, Order members fighting back with worn faces and spirits. Still, they shot at their enemies, the promise of revenge on the tips of their wands. The Boy Who Lived's death was only the beginning of this, Hermione realized as she dodge the attacks of multiple deatheaters hell bent on killing everyone. No matter who or what was lost today, the war was not over._

_A flash of red caught Hermione's eye and she readied her wand, thinking it the light of a curse. Instead, it was Ginny, moving against the current and towards the improvised graves of their friends. Frantically, she was searching for someone with burning eyes. Hermione knew exactly who Ginny was looking for, and if she searched long enough at this time, her friend would find him but not on this plane._

_Hermione ran towards the girl whose breakdown blended in with the scenery. "Ginny!" She called as the redhead began pushing back the corpses of the courtyard columns, trying to find one of a human boy. Deatheaters had taken notice of the two witches and were shooting green sparks towards them. "Ginny, please!"_

_She grabbed at her friend and began to tug, yanking her upright while fending off attacks._

_Ginny's face was almost as bad as any corpse she may have stumbled across. Her face was translucent and her eyes red. She did not cry, not yet. She was determined, only determined to find her love. But Hermione couldn't let her._

_Mourning the dead came after saving the living._

"_Come on," she urged. She led the two of them away from the advancing deatheaters, Ginny a rag doll behind her. Hermione watched as a few desperate students ran towards the attackers, pleading to join the dark lord only to greet his gatekeeper: death. So many lives clutched, and there were still many more to take. Young students, unprepared for a war, continued to pool towards the school doors, behind the elder pupils and Order members who basked in the red light of their counterattacks._

_The red that illuminated their faces only horrified Hermione, as flashes of blood smeared over those she loved raced through her head._

_And then there it was, the tug that tethered her to this school still. Someone was missing, someone who was supposed to be at her side, yet another person she needed to save before she could escape this hell._

"_Hermione!" A familiar voice called her out of her thoughts. A shot of green zoomed towards her and she didn't have time to raise her wand and deflect it. But it wasn't needed, as a bright light flashed from behind her and rebounded the Cruciatus meant for her._

"_Hermione," Neville gasped as he ran towards her, turning his wand on another attacker. "Everyone is heading to the Room of Requirement, where that vanishing cabinet is that the younger students used earlier. We're holding the doors and the ward for as long as we can, but you have to get through," he rushed out._

_Hermione hesitated as they ran for the door, nudging Ginny towards Neville._

"_Hermione, what is it?" Neville asked, eyes frantically scanning over their surroundings. They'd made it past the barricade of Order members, only a short stretch away from reaching safety but Hermione just couldn't walk any farther, not yet._

"_I can't leave, not without him. Neville, go with Ginny. I'll be right there," Hermione spewed out, head swiveling to latch onto its target. No matter where she looked, all she saw was chaos._

"_Hermione, it's useless. All hell has broken loose and if he hasn't passed the barricade, he won't now," Neville urged._

_All she could manage to do was shake her head. "No, I can't leave him. Not now, Neville." He opened his mouth to fight back but suddenly there was an onslaught of spells flying towards them, over them and onto the ward. They were trying to break through. Neville, torn, looked from Ginny to Hermione._

"_Don't. Die," he urged._

"_Wouldn't dare to dream of it." Hermione gave him a smile and a push away before she turned around, and then ran right into the heart of her losing battle._

* * *

_Your hair is ridiculous._

"What?" Hermione spat out, the clip that had been poised in her mouth flew onto the ground with a pathetic clatter. Her hands were trying to capture the battling tendrils of hair that were, at the moment, becoming more and more frazzled with the day. The salt from the sea was always there, meddling with it and causing it to frizz. For months, she'd been dealing with the mane that had haunted her nightmares since birth.

"I said," Viktor chuckled as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, "your hair is beautiful. You should not try to hide it behind hair clips. Let it be free." He pressed his lips against her neck in a kind kiss, letting them linger there as he laid his head on her shoulder. He stared at her stunned reflection in her room's mirror.

"What is it? Do you not like me so close?" He asked, always the gentleman. Quickly, he retracted, going to pick up the clip she'd dropped.

She frowned at her image, mentally scolding herself for freezing up. "It's not that. It's just that you surprised me, is all. And I couldn't possibly," Hermione replied as she took the clip he offered back to her. She tugged her hair into a rough bun before clipping it shut. Immediately, a curl sprang loose, rebelling against its master.

"It seems you will not have a choice," he said, a strong hand grasping the curl, still so gentle that she barely felt him tugging on it to see it spring back to life when he let it loose.

"I guess there's no use fighting with it," she muttered, putting down the brush in her hand and turning to Viktor. She reached for him and, without needing to ask, his hands were wrapped around her waist and hers caressed his neck.

It was as if he'd never left that day in her fourth year. When he first appeared at the doorstep three months ago with his league, ready to unite with the Order, his first instinct was to find her and make sure she was still alive. He still adored her, everyone knew he did from just the look in his eyes whenever Hermione entered the room. He was a boy seeing magic for the first time, awed by its presence and fearful that it would vanish. He was a protector by nature, and he was a fierce one when it came to her. There was not a mission Hermione was on that he was not on as well. It was a strong attachment, and Ron always teased Hermione about it. Now that Ginny was feeling better, she was chiming in too.

But, Hermione was the last one to talk about the relationship.

"Mm," Hermione sighed against a strong chest. The heartbeat sounded foreign, it wasn't one she knew well. It didn't follow her own. It didn't beat with her, but for her.

"_Hermione," he whispered against her ear and sparks ignited her skin._

There was the ghost of a touch against her bare shoulder. Rigid, Hermione's eyes snapped open and then confusion set it. Viktor hadn't said anything.

"Hermione," Viktor murmured against her hair, which was quickly escaping confinement. Already there were clumps of hair falling in her face, but that was the least of her problems. Still confused, she glanced up at her lover. "Hermione, you should go to sleep. We all need our rest for tomorrow night," he spoke again, planting a kiss on her forehead as he backed away.

"Did you," Hermione fumbled for a moment for words. "Do you think tomorrow will work?"

"Of course I do," he reassured her with a smile. "But I don't think it will end the war. I don't think we'll kill him."

Hermione nodded solemnly, already having known that one. It had been in the planning, though. With Voldemort down to just him, with all the horcruxes completely gone, he was weakened. It was just him, or so they believed. There was always the worry that he was already creating more of them.

She sighed as Viktor rested his hands against her cheeks, stroking the developing bags under her eyes with tender thumbs. The touch felt more and more foreign to her skin, no sparks inflamed her body, the impression of his fingers against her face did not match properly. Everything was off, and she didn't need to be feeling this way when they had much bigger fish to fry in the morning.

"Don't worry. I love you," he said before he released her and left the room. He never did wait for a reply.

* * *

"Still think this was a good idea?" Ron hissed as bright green streaked the air between the trees they used as shields.

"Expulso!" Hermione's wand shot out at a bedraggled wizard as he barreled through the trees. A shriek followed soon after. Her eyes grazed over the others, who were slowly coming up behind them to force back the mix of newly recruited and old deatheaters sent to protect their station. Not one person looked ready to retreat, solidifying her resolution. She grinned back at Ron as a strong blast from Ginny, a few trees to the side of Hermione, knocked the bulldozing Greyback down.

"Honestly, Ron. Since when do I ever come up with bad ideas?" she shot back without wavering, making Ron grimace before turning his attention back to the approaching onslaught. Despite the extensive check for charms around the Manor earlier that day, and Hermione's slow but complete disabling of those they knew about, Neville of all people had stumbled on one they hadn't exactly known about.

An alarm had been sent to the Manor and immediately afterwards, their present situation arose.

"If Kingsley wasn't dead before, he is now," George muttered, the bitterness of Fred's death a poison in his words. Molly and Arthur, only a few paces behind their son, frowned.

"That's enough out of you. You can't kill off deatheaters with negativity," Arthur scolded.

"Should I do a song and dance instead, then? Maybe I should kill 'em with kindness. Do you think you-know-who fancies a hug?"

"George! Would ya' pay attention!" Molly yelled over the crack of a branch over George as a spell hit it. He moved just in time to avoid the brunt of its fall.

"You alright?" Neville and Ron called at the same time, both shooting spells at a tree further ahead that was suspiciously spouting killing curses.

George nodded, a scowl on his face as he retaliated against whoever had tried to knock him out with a tree branch.

Hermione bit her lip and looked back to Ron. "We're not all getting in, Ron," Hermione started and already he was groaning.

"Hermione, it's all or none," he rebutted.

"You know my plan will work! If we'd just done it from the first place, instead of compromising, I'd be in by now," she argued, already exhausted because of the bickering they'd had earlier that day.

A cry from further back the line caused both of them to turn grim. Ron bore his eyes into the path up ahead as if it were the path to the underworld. It probably was.

"Ron, please. If we advance, they won't be able to focus on a few people breaking through the barrier. If we keep hiding behind trees, if only a few of us start running, sure, we're dead. But not if it's complete chaos."

Now he was glowering.

"She has a point, mate," Neville remarked, ducking under the stump he got stuck with.

"Shut up," he grumbled, looking for back up in Viktor, who just shrugged. Hermione had already warned the Bulgarian not to take sides and he wasn't about to screw things up. Completely grumpy, Ron scowled. "Fine, do it. But if you get killed, I bloody swear I'll kill you."

Hermione smiled. "Love you too, Ron," she remarked before shooting out three sparks from her wand. With a roar of clambering feet, the Order sprang forth and a show of lights colored the sky as they fought. Hermione, Viktor, Luna and Neville weaved through the lower end deatheaters sent to take them out, fighting off those that spotted them while the Weasleys pushed against the madmen.

"There!" Hermione called to her group when she spotted a weakness in their attackers barrier. They were parting, fighting the Order as they circled around and pulled them further away from the Manor. Viktor made a move for Hermione, grabbing onto her with the other three as they broke through the line and got a clear view of the deatheater headquarters.

The Malfoy Manor, decrepit and chilly from its new residents whose demeanor made the Malfoy family look like pygmy puffs, cast a menacing shadow over them. Overgrown vines strangled the gate the wizards reached, and seized the entire estate in its charcoaled, greedy grasp. Nothing was green anymore, and the Manor was not excluded from the decay. The shrubbery, stoic and once revered for their imposing design, were nothing but skeletons; their leaves were long gone. Roots rose above the ground, as if the plants had tried to make a run for it when the Dark Lord appeared. Neville stumbled over a handful of the petrified limbs.

The house itself looked menacing, the paint chipping off beneath the darkened windows, the large double doors daring the group to try and get through. Hermione, of course, was all for it. Wand in hand, she approached the door while the others scouted the parameter, stunning any guards that came about the corner before any warnings could be sent inside.

"Clear," Neville whispered as he rounded back to the entry as Hermione nudged one door open with Viktor on the other door. Their wands entered the estate first, searching and ready for anything that would try to kill them.

"Is anyone home?" Luna asked, making Hermione jump out of her skin. She turned her wand on the other witch and stared at her in disbelief.

"Really Luna?" She hissed.

"I was just asking the zigbies," Luna shrugged, as if it was completely normal to question the air.

"What are zigbies?" Neville asked, his face contorted in confusion. Hermione scowled and motioned for the two of them to zip it as they moved into the manor.

As soon as they'd stepped inside, there was the sound of footsteps in one of the halls branching off the main foyer. Quickly, the four dodged behind the set of chairs beside the door and stilled themselves. With held breaths, they waited as shadow smothered the bleak walls of the hall directly ahead of them; the same one Luna had told them lead to the formal living room. It was there that she had been tortured for information on Harry's whereabouts earlier that year. Now, Hermione considered it to be the central location for meetings besides the dining room located elsewhere in the Manor.

The wild curls, heels, and disastrous dress reflected off the wallpaper illustrated the shape of Bellatrix Lestrange. The very name made Hermione's throat run dry and she could feel the tension rolling off of Neville as he fought back the desire to wring the bitch's neck. The shadow lingered there with an accompanying shadow wand, thankfully aimed within the room she'd come from.

"Do not disappoint the Dark Lord or it will be the last and only time you do. Now get those filthy vermin OFF MY LAWN," she screeched before stomping off, further down the hall and away from where the vermin stood.

"That room, that's where he'll be. The basement entrance is in there," Luna whispered, pointing to the room Bellatrix had left.

Gritting her teeth, Hermione led them forward, sprinting through the foyer and clinging to the walls in a low crouch. Her heart was racing, clawing its way up her throat as they approached the still open doorway to the living room. Light pooled out of the quarters and served as a natural alert system to whoever was inside. And there had to be someone in there, Hermione grumpily admitted to herself. Bellatrix Lestrange was a well-known psychotic witch, but she'd yet to sink so low as to yell at invisible creatures. At least, as far as Hermione knew.

She motioned to the others to stay put, winning a disapproving look from Viktor. Still, he stayed on guard with the other three as Hermione slid to the other side of the hall, her back flat against the outer wall of the room. Slowly, she inched herself to the doorway.

Her heart was going to give her away. How'd no one hear it yet?

She peered in, wand at the ready with a strained grasp.

The room was empty.

Hermione did a double take, squinting into the room for reassurance. The fireplace held licking flames, and the light from it illuminated part of the room- the source of their issue outside- but the stately velvet lounge chairs that sat in front of the fire held no shadows but those that the night played on them.

Her eyes raked over the opposite side of the vast room, over the descending staircase that most likely led to the prisoners' chambers, the murals and the tables and shelves showcasing the Malfoy heirlooms and love of firewhiskey. But, still, not a living creature in sight.

Bellatrix Lestrange was finally completely and utterly mental, especially for leaving Kingsley alone. Didn't they know why the Order was here?

With an amused smirk on her face, Hermione turned back to the others.

"_Don't leave, not yet," a smiling voice pleaded from behind as arms wrapped around her waist. Hermione squealed and immediately cupped her mouth in shock. There was a hush over the two as the strong arms tightened around her protectively, greedily. When nothing came to reprimand the young witch's cry of joy, a soft chuckle came from behind her._

"_See, we're alone. Stay."_

"Hermione?" Viktor mouthed, concern straining his face when Hermione came to, shaking her head. Her disorientation didn't last as long as the overall shock. Her mouth agape, she looked at the people depending on the fact that she wasn't completely bonkers.

"We… we're alone. Let's go," she whispered, pushing away from the wall as if it had sprouted arms meant to capture and contain her. Still puzzled, face heated with embarrassment and something… else, Hermione entered the large and completely empty room. There was no snake, no dark chill that followed Voldemort in his wake. There was only the gloom of fallen hope seeping into the walls.

As long as there weren't any deatheaters waiting behind a corner to jump out and end them all, Hermione could care less about the miserable atmosphere.

Still, she was having a hard time concentrating so she let Luna lead the way through the room and to the staircase so that she could deal with the headache that began to creep up on her. Hermione rubbed at her temples, trying to suppress the puzzling scene that had surfaced only moments ago. None of it made sense, and yet it didn't feel completely foreign to her. The more she thought of the episode, the more details came into view. The wallpaper of the hall in front of her when she was held from behind that looked similar to that of the hall she was in now. The lighting was just as dark and the arms felt fitted to her curves as if they were meant to be there.

She hadn't been sleeping well lately and Hermione was in the process of figuring out where she and Viktor stood. She was just imagining situations during heated moments, right? Figments of her imagination were popping into the forefront of her head at the worst times and she was just merging reality with fiction. Or at least, that's what helped make the headache go away.

When she returned to herself, confident once more in her sanity, she was looking into a worn, but perfectly Kingsley face. He was bruised, one eye sealed shut with pus and blood, the surrounding tissue a dark green color. His regal clothes were washed out and covered in sweat and there was a pungent smell to the room and him. And yet, he still held the authority of the Order's leader. With a weak smile, he greeted his rescuers.

"What lovely faces to see after such a long time away from beauty." His voice was still strong, powerful enough to command an army. It was something that was missing from the Order since he'd been taken away and Hermione was infinitely relieved Bellatrix and her minions had not killed his spirit, or him entirely.

Viktor was already working on the door with Hermione while Luna and Neville stood guard, knowing a wild Bellatrix still lingered the halls. Footsteps upstairs made them work quicker, knowing that the wicked witch wasn't the only one here.

Finally, with a crack, the charmed lock was undone and Kingsley swiftly left his prison. He stumbled and many hands reached out to help him up the stairs. He would not be on the field immediately after this but, by the determined look on his face, neither was he going to be out for long.

"Is it just the four of you? There must be others, for this place to be so empty," Kingsley remarked as they made for the door.

Shrill footsteps approaching silenced Hermione before she would answer. They froze; Kingsley slouched over Neville and Viktor's shoulders with Hermione and an ever-attentive Luna poised with their wands towards the door. Still, if Bellatrix was to enter the room, they were certain others would come soon after. This was, after all, meant to be a covert mission. And it was about to be blown to bits.

"The doorway," Hermione breathed involuntarily, her brown eyes going blank as a map drew itself in her head.

"What doorway?" Neville hissed, snapping Hermione back. She looked to Luna, trying to cover her mishap.

"The doorway, Luna. The one behind the mural you spoke of when we were planning this," Hermione replied.

The footsteps were drawing nearer.

Luna looked puzzled, shaking her head slowly. "I didn't mention a doorway."

"Nevermind that, let's go," Viktor interrupted before an argument could break out in the middle of the Malfoys' living room. He steered Kingsley towards the one mural that wasn't perched high upon the wall while Hermione rushed to yank it aside. Desperate for this strange idea to work, she pulled with all her might and, miraculously, the painting swung open silently to reveal a dusty passage.

She pushed the others through as the footsteps grew louder, piercingly so, until it stopped. Hesitant for reasons unfathomable, Hermione lingered as the others rushed through to the other side without knowing what would greet them.

Too late, Hermione realized the footsteps stopped.

There was a break in the air as a wand flicked and the painting's frame tore away from Hermione's grasp. It shut closed with a snap, leaving the witch bare to whoever had found her.

"Oh, no. Don't leave, not yet," a humored, familiar voice drawled from behind. A chill slithered down Hermione's back and, on a reflex, she began to raise her wand. Within an instant, it was flying out of her hand.

"Move, and I will kill you. Well, I'll do it either way. Let me correct myself," he snarled and finally it dawned on Hermione who now had her life cushioned in a chokehold.

"Move, and I'll make sure to drain every drop of that filthy blood out of your veins before I finally let you die," the voice of the head master of the house now demanded.

Draco Malfoy now had her at wand-point.


	3. Chapter 3

_There she was, a breath away from him with an impenetrable glass wall between their worlds. He was following orders, or so he convinced himself as he watched the strange, young creature move cautiously amongst her group. Her friends were gathered around her, concern scarring their faces with wrinkles that would, with time, ingrain themselves in their skin. Her disappearance would be one of many, and she would be the only one to come back tonight. They were relieved to see she was alive, though upset after being found, barely conscious and stumbling just outside the double doors of the Great Hall. And they should have been, and they should have been thanking him._

"_Hermione, where were you?" The Weasley girl asked, frantic as she looked over her friend for sustained wounds._

_Hermione looked puzzled for a moment, rubbing at her temple with one hand as the other clutched onto her wand for dear life, as if it were the only thing keeping her steady. She opened her mouth to speak, only to close her chapped lips against whatever words were forming. He already knew her answer but, just as she could sense it, he also knew it was a lie._

"_I was by the Room of Requirement. A curse hit me from behind and then I was out like a light," she mumbled, a grimace on her face as a bitter taste rose in her mouth. Everyone seemed to believe it, except for her. Distraught, she became lightheaded, and arms went to catch her before she could fall to the ground. He too wanted to raise his arms to protect her._

_But he had to keep his distance. In fact, he should have been leaving by now but there was no denying a strange interest was developing, an investment swelling within him and forming into a tumor. He didn't want to stay and make sure she was okay, that she didn't stagger about, or show signs of ailment, but his feet were firmly planted to the ground in his hiding spot behind a cracked pillar._

"_What are we to do?" Ronald Weasley asked, turning to the one who'd killed the dark lord's snake- Longbottom. He had a gash across his face, which the Lovegood girl was tending to as he moved about the hall-turned-refuge with a look of consternation on his face._

"_Fight, of course," was the blunt answer. Hermione, coming to and finding herself on a bench beside one of her professors, frowned._

"_How many are down?" She asked, and a hush came over the group that was left standing._

"_More than I care to mention. Professor McGonagall is missing, and we're still trying to bring in the rest of the bodies before it starts up again," Longbottom replied solemnly._

_The entire grounds were covered with fallen wizards and witches, many of whom had once studied here, impaled by the stones that had once built up a great school. A school he had once loved, and found shelter in when all else was amiss. Blood stained Hogwarts' heart, and its body was crippled by hatred. But, within its falling walls lay a dim beam of light, and he was staring at it._

_That little muggle-born with blood gushing from her forehead and a dazed look mixed with disappointment and emptiness in her eyes, she was the only hope he could see now. Part of him wanted to rush forth and crush her under his foot, condemning the world to the hell it was meant to be under Voldemort's reign. Another part of him wanted nothing more than to help her, and believe that possibly, this small figment of hope would hold true and bring an end to this madness. But he usually wasn't a believer._

_Still, he couldn't turn away and leave, even as the mark on his arm stung in warning that the war was still going on about him. She was already rallying up her soldiers, preparing for the final onslaught at Hogwarts, and he was to answer his own call._

_He had his role to play, and so did she._

* * *

She wanted to scream, but that wasn't going to help her situation one bit. If anything, the filthy mongrel behind her would take pleasure from it. Hermione could already see the smile plastered on his deranged face as he cornered her, wand at the ready to curse her into oblivion if he so pleased. Malfoy having power over her was one of the few, and utterly disturbing things she'd never wanted to encounter in her lifetime. And, naturally, it had to happen and under these circumstances.

How could she have been so stupid? She'd known Bellatrix had been speaking to someone, she'd had the sneaking suspicion something was wrong, and yet Hermione had lead herself into a trap.

_At least it's only you_, she tried to comfort herself with the thought. But, it didn't help. It was little consolation knowing that the others had gotten through, if he knew exactly where the passage led. Seeing as it was his house, she was in no luck of a good outcome at this point.

"To think you had the audacity to try and use my house against me, Granger. Really, you think that low of me?" Malfoy mocked from behind. She could hear his shoes quietly tapping against the marble floors, approaching her with the prowl of a hunter who knew he'd cornered his prey. Now, he was basking in his victory. She had no trouble imagining how long he'd been waiting to catch her, especially after the holes she'd planted in his plans thus far.

For months, it had been a dance between the two of them as they tried to overpower, overplay each other. She'd wounded his forces just days ago in Diagon Alley, he clawing her a week before that by attacking Dean and Seamus as they went on a supply run. It seemed for a while now, he'd been calling the shots and, with Kingsley missing in action, Hermione had filled in as his opponent. Now, they were finally face to face (in a roundabout way) and all she wanted to do was claw his face off.

"Is that really a question?" She boldly retorted. Might as well get it over with. If she remembered right, and she was one with quite a spectacular memory, his temper always got the better of him. Death would be swift, possibly, if she pushed the right buttons. _Or, maybe not_. She was hoping he was the kind that didn't play with his food or that, possibly and this was highly optimistic of her, he wasn't what Voldemort set to make him.

"Never thought you were so fucking daft, yes it was a question. But, seeing as you're unable to comprehend, I'll leave it at that," he hissed. His voice was louder, and she could only assume he was creeping closer.

"Draco, dear," the shrill voice of another came from the far left, somewhere near the entrance. Hermione cringed, knowing well that Bellatrix Lestrange would join in if she were given the chance. "Let me play," she pleaded with eagerness, delight lifting her voice another octave. The loud clangs of her boots filled the room as she entered, approaching her nephew.

It was killing Hermione that she couldn't see what was going on. She found herself glaring into the eyes of a Malfoy ancestor, who looked about ready to vomit at the sight of her. The old man's pale face was stuck in a scowl and he was holding a hand to his mouth and nose in disgust. It made Hermione want to gouge the painting's eyes out.

Get it over with.

"Bellatrix, out. Go find the others this beast has let out. Go to the east lawn, they'll be there. Dead or alive, I don't care, but bring them to me," Malfoy barked at his aunt, showing very much the authority he'd been handed by Voldemort over the past few months.

The bitterness was tense in the air as Lestrange left without a word, and Hermione could feel the dark lead of the mad witch's eyes on her back. She wasn't quite sure whether she was thankful or not to have her gone.

"Turn around," he hissed. Hermione bit down on her lip and her pride, wanting nothing more than to sock the sodding ass hole in the face. It was an urge that suppressed even the one that called for her wand.

Slowly, and with all the defiance and dignity she could manage to muster, Hermione turned to her assailant with eyes ablaze. His wand was steadily pointed at her chest, his eyes stony and rigid despite the languid nature of his stance. He was trying to play it cool, but his emotions were taking the lead. It rattled him that she was there, within his home.

A small smile crept onto her face.

"What are you smiling on about?" He snapped, eyes narrowed and a snarl deforming his face. Always so pleasant.

"I'm trying to decide whether I'm smiling on about the fact that you've yet to kill me, or that you just commanded your aunt to do your bidding," Hermione scoffed. His lips twitched violently, and she braced herself for the words that would send her to her grave. But, they didn't come to form.

"Oh, you would like that, wouldn't you?" He mocked, a smirk morphing his features.

"Death? I'm not fond if it, no, but it seems like a common ending to these meetings."

He sneered at her, moving from his spot to walk about her, examining her from every angle allowed him.

"Oh, not this meeting. No, see, I have certain plans. I was going to ask you about our little infestation problem," he replied, his eyes flashing up to meet hers with a dangerous spark. The nervousness, the twinge of uncertainty that had once kept him from becoming his father had long fled. She swallowed, her earlier doubts about him being the true second in command erased. The boy she somewhat remembered from her time on the run, trying to help Harry in subtle ways, was gone.

"What infestation?" She gritted out, standing her ground and fighting a flinch as his wand flicked upwards and pointed directly between her eyes. His mouth twisted into something barely acknowledgeable as a smile; that spark igniting further. He took a step closer to her, and she had to clench down against the ground with her toes to keep from backing up. Despite him being a few feet away from her, she felt it was far too close.

"Your infestation of rats, crawling onto our land and trying to take what is ours. You may call it a rebellion, but it is nothing but a pathetic cluster of vermin ready to be exterminated," Malfoy was eager to say, his words lighting a fire within him as his smile turned livid, lips tweaking with each word as if he were unable to control them.

Her own rage was bubbling, fueling a monster in her belly and daring to rear its head. She was tired of the smearing campaigns, the brainwashing she'd learned was now considered to be teaching under the deatheater's control, the constant talk of the rebellion as something to be squashed.

"You filthy bastard! You are scum, and I can't wait for the day I see you all rot in hell," she spat at him, her feet irrationally leading her forward from her spot against the wall.

Like that, he pounced on her, the feet of separation shut within a split hair of a moment. He was seething, his wand digging into the tender flesh of her neck as she stood against him with hellfire eyes. His own were clouded with bloodlust, and she could just see his lips forming the words needed to cast her into the darkness but they, again never came to true form.

He was suddenly so rigid there, frozen as he glared at her, the wand still poised to kill but unwilling to do so. She almost wondered if he'd been petrified from behind. Could she run if she wanted to?

"Go on, torture and kill me. It won't matter. You have already lost," she fumed, her breath falling hot against his face as she looked up at him, challenging him with every fiber of her being. There was an intensity twisting tighter and tighter in the air between them that only fueled her even more. A part of her was confused as to where the tension all came from, as if out of midair it was there and pulling her closer to him and egging her on and on. Her hands itched to grab at him. She didn't need a wand to inflict pain. It seemed purebloods tended to forget that.

A low growl clawed up his throat and she could see him clenching his jaw before, finally, he composed himself and sneered.

"No, Granger. You've lost. Your friends will all die, and all because you will give me the hideout you all enjoy so much."

She gritted her teeth. "I will never give them away."

"You may never say it, but your mind knows and it will tell me everything," he taunted and before she could fight, as she was ready to, her arms poised to thrust him back across the room –wand be damned- his hands were on her shoulders and shoving her against the portrait behind them.

Hermione writhed in his grasp, her fists slamming against his chest as he pinned her down with his free arm. His wand was at her temple, and every part of her body was touching a portion of his own. Her skin was crawling, screaming, and something in her stomach was turning. Everything was wrong, and she wanted to scream bloody murder now because her occlumency abilities had yet to improve and she was growing dizzy from his scent and-

"Stop it! Get away from me, fuck off!" She howled, a last ditch effort to piss him off enough to kill her, or just distract him long enough to figure out a way to escape. If she would just locate his groin…

"Legilimens!" The searing pain of him thrusting into her mind blocked out her last, screeching plea.

She was tumbling through her memories, one painful image after the other filtering through as he ransacked her mind for details he had no right to know. There was the gentle smile of Ron as he guided Hermione into Grimmauld Place after the Battle of Hogwarts, her legs weak and her resolve shaken.

"_He didn't die in vain, Hermione. No one did."_

She screamed, kicking Malfoy out and for a flicker of a moment, she saw the bleak walls of Malfoy Manor before his will slammed down on her mind once more and shoved her back into her memories.

"_Teddy! Look, it's your new room," Hermione cooed as she cradled the blue-haired angel in her arms. She walked him into the familiar, cream-colored nursery Bill and Fleur had set up for the baby, the sound of the ocean racing against the sand soothing Remus and Nymphadora's restless child. _

"_You think he'll be safe here? We'll be safe?" Fleur asked as she came from behind, rubbing Hermione's shoulders as they fell under an invisible weight. Hermione felt herself sigh, unsure of the weeks and months, possibly years to come._

"_As safe as we can be, now."_

Shell cottage.

The humble abode flashed through her mind's eye, the tall grass, the salty air, the tranquility was interrupted by Malfoy's brutal assault. Hermione could feel sweat racing down the side of her temples as she fought with every fiber of her being to shut him out, but every shove received an even stronger push. Her nails were digging into his vest, into his skin, causing him to bar his teeth but never stopping him from pressing on.

He was greedy for more, and he was nudging at the corners of her memories, eagerly staining every fiber of her being with his touch.

With one last ditch effort, she mustered all her strength to block him out and a black wall slammed down on him. For a moment, when she felt him recede, she thought he'd finally seen all he needed to see. But, then, there was a slamming force that seared her will and mind in half.

A sharp dagger stabbed at her temples, at her chest, and she let out a pathetic scream of pain. The darkness was morphing, and forms were emerging.

"I can't do this anymore. You need to tell me, you need to let me help!" She heard herself plead in a distant voice. Everything was muffled, blurry but the shapes of shelves could be made out. Books stacked neatly side by side built a library; a familiar one Hermione had called home. It was a dark corner, secluded, and at first it seemed no one was there.

_But Hermione wasn't prone to talking to herself._

_Out of the edges of the memory came a tall, sleek figure. It was pacing, and the head was out of the focus range, so that only a body seemed to be walking around the library. It was dressed, head (or, for now, shoulder) to foot in school uniform, with the vivid color green popping out against the black of his attire. Strong hands were fiddling with the glowing tie, loosening it, then taking it off altogether and tossing it aside._

"_NO! You can't help, and I in no way can tell you a damn'd thing. Get that through your thick fucking skull!" Came the distressed reply, frustration blasting Hermione in the face. She felt the keen feeling of distress as she got up from her seat at the humble windowsill to approach the headless boy, as it seemed to be. He immediately withdrew, backing up against the opposite bookcase._

"_Please," her voice cracked and a cool wetness was running down her face. Tears? They had to be. "Please, I'm begging you. You don't have to go through this alone."_

_There was a thick silence, in which she yearned to close the distance between herself and the stranger. She wanted so much to hold him and ease his pain, despite her own._

"_You don't understand, Hermione. You don't get it. I need to be alone," came a feeble response._

"_But you don't want to be alone. And don't give me this 'need' bullshit! I know just as much as you do that what you need and what I need are the same thing! You need to get that through **your** thick skull!" Hermione shot back, heat rising to her face and evaporating what tears may have been forming._

_She didn't have time to blink before the figure was rushing forward, throttling her against the wall and pinning her arms tightly, making her flinch. He immediately eased the pressure, but kept her there all the same. She could make out pale skin, and a jagged chin. The bottom of his lips were shaking, twitching with a mixture of rage and something else. Yearning._

"_And what is that, Granger?" He hissed, shaking her, demanding her to come to her senses. "And what is that? Each other? Oh, please. You make me sick with your fantasies. You don't live in a daydream anymore, you ridiculous little girl! Wake up! The world is falling apart around you, and all you see are fucking fairies and what? A prince charming? I'm never going to be your fucking muggle prince so get over it! Get over it and fast!" He screamed, and Hermione was certain the library had to be empty for him to be so bold._

_She was openly sobbing now, quietly but she could feel the tears gushing from her eyes in streams. A strange pain was pinching, prodding at her stomach and clutching her heart in a chokehold._

"_Draco," she heard herself breathe out, a longing in it that jolted a searing anguish in her gut._

His head searing from what felt like a massive burn, Draco leapt out of Granger's mind and became blinded by what would have usually been such dark surroundings. His every sense was heightened, his body extremely aware of the supple flesh against his, the rapidly beating heart that was far too close to his own- that he was meant to extinguish. The hairs on his arm prickled, chills racing through his spine in waves as he fought to compose himself. His wand was still clutched in his hand, pressed against her temple, but he now felt his arm shaking, along with his resolve as the memories continued to flash through his mind, vivid in every detail from the feel of the fabric of her uniform to the sound of his name on her lips. A screeching headache was overwhelming him with each thought and without another notion against the contrary, Draco jolted away from the woman who'd yet to recover from his assault.

She seemed to be leaning against the portrait of his flustered great grandfather for support, her eyes wide open but unseeing as she looked just to the right of him. Her mouth was agape, fingers clawed in the air where his chest had been. He could still feel the sting of her nails, the peculiar spreading excitement it induced.

"What the f-fuck was that?" He stammered as he remembered himself and aimed his wand back at her, ready to shoot her dead now that he'd gotten what he needed. Yet, a nasty little voice in the back of his head was urging him not to.

Granger finally came to, blinking away the gray that shrouded her eyes and thoughts to finally look up at Draco's face. Slowly, a look of horror and disgust formed. "What the hell did you do to me?" She howled, already accusing him.

"Me? Oh, you filthy little wench," he shot back, clenching his wand as he wanted to clench her neck. "You planted that to catch me off guard! Everything, plotted!" Why didn't he just kill her already?

Her glare turned vehement and he could see smoke bursting from her nostrils as she flared. "Oh, you would fancy yourself so much, wouldn't you? Sod off."

"I'll kill you for tha-"

"Then DO IT," she screeched, hands up in the air and he planted his feet, his concentration on the two words needed to end her. She looked anything but ready to die. He was surprised she didn't come at him with claws, ready to tear him to bits.

And even with that threat in mind, he couldn't form the words. He was too busy recreating her in his mind, pleading with him for something far different from death.

Was everything in her mind fraudulent?

Again, he chanted the words in his head, ready to speak them, ready to get this over with so the lurching sickness in the pit of his being would go away-

A flash of white shot out from the side, blasting him full force and throwing him across the room where he lay, petrified, as a small fleet of Order members burst into the room. It seemed Bellatrix had failed to capture them. Beautiful.

"Hermione!" The rusty voice of a foreigner called from the doorway as rushed feet approached. Within seconds, there was a sneering redhead above him, a shoe that could have passed for swiss cheese with how many holes it had in it pressed against Draco's shoulder.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Malfoy," Ron Weasley spat down the length of his arm and wand, much too pleased with having Draco on the floor beneath him. If he weren't completely frozen, Draco would have punched the fucking twat in the face, among other things. This was the last shitfaced Member he wanted near him.

"Hermione, are you okay?" The foreigner asked from afar, making Draco nauseous and wanting to howl.

"Yes, I'm fine, Viktor. How'd you get past them?" More feet, more people intruding on his home.

"We lured most of the deatheaters into a valley and surrounded them. There's still a fight going on, but we noticed you weren't back. It took me a while because Bellatrix found where we were," the man named Viktor informed Granger, breathless. "They won't be holding them back for long, so we need to leave."

"What about him?" Weasley barked out, his eyes daggering Malfoy to the ground. "I say we kill the bastard."

"No!" Granger was quick to interject, and immediately everyone in the room turned to her. "We need to leave now."

The crack of thunder outside wasn't just sporadic weather. His lord was returning. A seeping chill was crawling upon the walls, and breaths came in small puffs of smoke as the others realized the soon to be arrival as well.

"It'll only take a second!"

"NOW," Granger shrieked, rushing over to the blood traitor and grabbing his arm. Her eyes fleetingly caught Draco's and the headache that had been subdued until then reared its ugly head once more. She looked to be in pain as well, but she dismissed him and yanked the Weasley away as the chill consumed the room. Outside, despite how dark it had already been, the scene grew even bleaker. He could hear the sounds of Order members apparating outside, leaving the Manor before anything could get worse. This had been, after all, just a recovery mission for them.

There was a rush of feet leaving the room and then Draco was alone with the memory of his name, dancing upon the enemy's lips.


	4. Chapter 4

_His screams of torment just barely covered the snake's hiss of pleasure as it bounded off the sterile walls of the place he once called home. The sounds jumbled together smothered the Malfoy Manor in a state of fossilization, nothing moved in fear of facing the wrath that was now targeted on Draco Malfoy. The house elves were hidden within the kitchen walls, his mother in the room she hadn't left for weeks since Lucius's death, and his aunt was out searching for signs of the rebellion; a rebellion that was making everything worse, much worse for him._

_And even if someone were to move towards this scene, no one would stop it. No one would stand up to the monster in front of him, the mad man whose wand inflicted pain beyond measure, and promised a death that was no more swift than it was merciful. Voldemort did not know the word, despite how many times he would say he was a merciful lord. The cruciatus that tore at Draco's skin solidified that notion into his very being._

"_I can still hear you!" He bellowed over Draco's outbursts, the Malfoy heir writhing on the floor. He clawed at the flat surface, nails cracking away and gushing blood out as he scratched for purchase. He wanted to cling onto something, anything, that might remind him he wasn't falling into hell itself. He was still on earth, still alive despite his wish to just die._

_The skin on his back tore at itself, his bones seemingly shattered only to rebuild themselves. He knew most of it was his mind at work, his own mind betraying him, but the blood was real. He could feel the vessels behind his eyes pop out of place as he squeezed them shut, trying to fight against every fiber of his being that was pleading to scream even louder. His throat was hoarse, scared no doubt against the yells pulled out of him by a measly wand. For one man to have so much power over him…_

"_You are weak," the dark lord hissed through thin lips, stopping his assault with dismay as he glided across the room, circling his victim, his pupil as Draco tried to compose himself. Red daggered eyes tore through Draco like no curse could. He owned him, body and soul, without a doubt. The snake had wrapped its body around Malfoy and was coiling it fiercely about him._

_He was dying._

_He could just barely feel his legs through the mind-numbing pain that racked his upper torso, feel them try to move into a position that would allow him to stand up. He needed to get up, before more blinding torture rained down on him from above._

"_You are not fit to be my hand," Voldemort continued vehemently, utter disappointment seeping through his words as they oozed out. "You mustn't feel pain, Draco. You must conquer it, so that it is yours to control, to manipulate, to give."_

_He was beginning to feel his fingers, and his other limbs as well. His eyesight was back, and he could see the red on the marble from where he'd scratched with all his might. He could feel the reopened scars on his back, and the warmth that pooled there, sticking against his shirt. Sweat and other bodily fluids covered him from head to toe, and he felt vile. He wanted to take a cold shower and shrink away into his mother's room with her, and ask her to hold him. He knew better than most she wouldn't, not anymore, but he needed it badly._

_So fucking badly._

"_Draco, rise" came the hissed command. With what strength he could muster, Draco lifted himself to his feet, staggering slightly but managing to raise his head high. Licking his lips, he tasted the sharp tang of blood and the sting of a cut dividing his lower lip. His gums and tongue, too, were in bad shape._

_He felt his body pulling him down to the ground already, tired, unwilling to continue this game. He might have asked for this once upon a time, but he had been a fool with one eye on his father and the other on his mother's smile. Draco had never truly wanted this, any of this. But, he was going to receive it either way._

_Holes that stood for eyes bore into him, the face of Lucifer confronting his own and tearing away at his layers, meticulously. Every fragile part of him, every shard of uncertainty, vulnerability, need was there for the dark lord to see. All was there and ripe for the picking._

"_Again," was all he had to say before the pain shot through him again, yanking him to the floor; his new best friend._

_There, instead of cold marble, he felt the brief touch of skin, warm against his hands and undeniably heavenly. There was a flash of a smile, bright and unbelievably beautiful, calling to him from beyond the pain, beyond the darkness that was swallowing him whole._

"_Draco," came a voice, caressing his torn skin, planting sweet kisses against his shut eyelids. The pain of his master's attacks was almost bearable._

_Almost, until the voice was gone. Leaving him to the reality of his pitiful situation._

* * *

"My lord," the calm in Draco's voice was his only defense against the rage that now stormed about him in the room. The sound of Voldemort's footsteps bellowed through the Manor, alerting the other deatheaters to steer clear unless they wanted a share of what he was about to serve. The chill that had accumulated within the main hall fed off of his lord, growing more intense with each pacing step he took.

Draco's fingers and nose were frostbitten as the Dark Lord moved about, his fine nostrils flaring as he took in the scene before him.

"Kingsley is gone," Voldemort hissed, finally coming to a stop. His hand routinely went to his side, searching for a head to pet only to find air. Malfoy watched with weariness as Voldemort's skeletal fingers curled into a tight fist.

Draco knew better than to reply. He stood stationary beside his chair, no longer feeling the warmth his fireplace was supposed to supply. The fire had gone out the moment his lord had returned to witness Malfoy only just thawing out from his attack moments earlier, followed briskly by Bellatrix's arrival.

"And the mudblood leader as well, because you let her go," he continued, his voice slicing through the air and slapping Draco across the face. His lord stopped, his hand twitching about the wand in his hand and Draco, well equipped for Voldemort's anger, stiffened in preparation for the onslaught.

He didn't even have to raise his wand as the skin-tearing agony began. He clenched his fists, felt the nails dig into the skin of his palms, and shut his eyes against the instinct to fall to his knees. They rattled, and his jaw slammed shut in protest. As quick as the punishment had come, it'd left.

"My lord, I've been setting a plan in motion for months now," Draco cautiously went forward once he was certain his composure was solid, watching with a hawk's eye as his lord stopped in front of the very portrait Draco had encountered his earlier demise. His teeth gritted against one another as the vivid memory of Granger's face, her filthy hands on him ravaged his mind.

"Then, do share," came the sarcastic remark from his aunt who stood leaning against the entryway with a crack of a smile on her face. The gaps between her teeth held no match for those in her sanity.

Malfoy shot her a glare before turning back to the Dark Lord, whose eyes were keenly on him, studying, knowing but only what Draco's skilled mind allowed him to. Voldemort would find that he had taught his pupil well.

"I know where the resistance's base is," Draco went forth, earning a scowl from his aunt. It only served to amuse him and he fought back a smile as he presented his case to his lord. "I gained access to Hermione Granger's memories and pried the information out from there. I'm more than positive I can find it's exact location."

"We attack, then!" Bellatrix screeched with unraveling excitement, jumping up and down in her spot like a rabbit, her anger forgotten momentarily as she rejoiced in the thought of bloodshed. Draco glanced over at her, his eyes shooting her down.

"No, not quite," he rebutted, turning back to the Dark Lord whose sharp senses were picking up on his scent. Smiling, Draco kept his demeanor collected, so unlike his aunt that it was no question as to why he'd quickly become the favorite.

"Do go on."

* * *

"Hermione, what the hell!" Ron was in disbelief, most definitely contemplating sending her to Mungo's mental ward after finding out that she'd let Malfoy go, knowing full well he had their location. The two of them were in the middle of a storm, as order members rushed to pack up essentials with Molly and Ginny orchestrating the madness. There was the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen along with the thud of food falling to the floor. Fleur stood atop the stairs with an amused Teddy in her arms, his bright eyes watching the catastrophe with eagerness and curiosity. He was the only one.

"'Mione, what about this?" Someone called from inside the pantry. She didn't even have to look before replying.

"Every potion we have comes with us, no exceptions. I don't care if it takes forever to gather them, we take every last drop." She ordered over the hustle. Ron was still looking at her, waiting for some kind of logical explanation as to why any of this was necessary.

"I know, I know!" Hermione finally exclaimed, frazzled. "I fucked up, I fucked up! We have to leave. We need to leave, and now. I won't risk the chance that he actually thought the memory was false-"

"Why would he think that? That cocky bastard usually thinks he does everything right," Ron shot back with a sinister laugh, shaking his head as he moved out of the way of Luna, who was herding a row of floating plants through to the kitchen backdoor, where all the supplies were being gathered.

"Luna, some of those are highly unnecessary," Hermione sighed but the aloof blonde was already off, putting the plants into the pile.

"I, um, who knows. He accused me of planting them there. Maybe he thought it was too obvious a place. Honestly, it doesn't matter. He could have been lying, to make me believe we were safe." She turned back to Ron, for some reason hesitant towards telling him the full truth. Nothing about her and Malfoy's exchange sat right in her stomach, but the details were for her alone to worry about.

"Where do we go?"

"I don't know," she sighed, running a hand through her mane. It was falling from the seams, as she was. She was surprised she wasn't in a corner sobbing because of her idiocy. Because of her, they would have to leave their one safe haven.

"Bloody hell," Ron groaned, rubbing his temples.

"I know, I know-"

"No, no you don't! You should have just let me kill him!"

"RON! What was the vow you took? Or have you forgotten?" Hermione shot back in disgust.

"To kill only as a defense, not an offense."

"Exactly. It's one of the only things that divides us from them!"

"Oh, Hermione, that is a load of bull-"

"Ron, please, don't argue with me. I don't have," and her body was faltering, shots of electric pain stifled her words and numbed every limb until she found herself slipping backwards, the exhaustion that had been piling up finally overwhelming her. Arms quickly found their way behind her, holding her up.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, concerned. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back the agony and dizziness, and when she opened them, Ron's hair was suspiciously light, almost white. Her skin recoiled from his touch.

"Sorry, I just need some air," Hermione muttered, lifting herself up and away from her friend. Her body was floating out of the chaos, through the door, and before she knew it, she was approaching Viktor as he enhanced the protective charms on Shell Cottage.

"Hey," was all he said as her arms wrapped around him, her head against his back. She breathed him in, the familiar musky scent left her feeling secure. The contours of his muscles flexed against her as he moved, and what usually felt extremely normal, comfortable, nostalgic even, felt somewhat alien to her.

"You know, maybe they won't find us. The charms you put up have never failed," Viktor stated as his hands expertly moved through the air, a small sheer stream of magic flowing from the tip of his wand.

Hermione sighed, disenchanted. "They'll search until they find this spot, they won't stop, so we might as well leave now."

"I know."

His murmur of incantations soothed her, and she found her eyes drifting shut against the dull migraine haunting her. He was solid, real, and so unlike the strange fragmented images and sounds that popped up every once in a while. She felt like she was going insane, seeing and hearing things when they were most certainly not there, embracing, of only for a moment, sensations that were figments of an overactive imagination. She doubted herself, her ability to remember things clearly, to feel with sincerity, as she should have with Viktor.

And she had no idea what had happened earlier that night with Malfoy, the strange scene that had played out in her mind and the distinct throb that came with it.

It was so vibrant in every sense. She could smell the dust that accumulated on the books at Hogwarts, feel the rough texture of the wood desks, strong hands grabbing her arms. The hot breath against her skin that smelled of a mixture of insignificant things: lemon, fine oak, freshly pressed clothing still warm to the touch, and a primal, masculine aroma so distinct that it was hard to believe she'd made it up. Her heartbeat had been racing, she could feel it smashing against her ribcage, the cold of her tears caressing her cheeks.

But it had to be a fake.

"It's not your fault." She jolted out of her thoughts, and glanced up to see Victor gazing down at her with a gentle smile. He turned around in her arms, his firm hands resting on her hips as he planted a kiss on her forehead. Her lips twitched, trying to manage a returning smile but failing.

"It is, Viktor. It's no use saying it's not."

"He invaded your privacy. We all should have been practicing occlumency but with everything that has been happening-"

"I should have brought him with us."

"Possibly."

"No, not possibly. I should have done it," Hermione muttered bitterly, pressing her face into his chest and taking deep breaths. He nudged her body closer to his before wrapping his arms around her, a hand stroking at her back.

"We had to get out. You couldn't make the call that fast. You're brilliant, but even you aren't perfect. And that's normal," he comforted but she didn't want that. She needed Ron's glares and ridicule. With another sigh, she pulled away from Viktor with a sheepish smile as he studied her.

"I need to be perfect in this job while Kingsley is still recovering. If I'm not, I'm putting us at risk." She shook her head when Viktor opened his mouth to speak again. Slowly, he closed his lips with a huff.

"Doesn't matter now. What's done is done. I think they need you inside to help with bulk items. I'll finish up the charms and monitor the perimeter since I'm sure no one in there wants to see me right now." Silently, Viktor pressed his lips to her hair before tearing himself from her side, but his eyes never left her until he entered the cottage.

Once alone, Hermione shut her eyes to the sky as shards of pink and orange began to cut away at the night. The stars she loved to stare at while on patrol were already dimming, preparing for the sun's onslaught as morning dawned and gave way to a new day full of anxiety. She was confident that if the deatheaters were going to make a move, it would be early in the morning when they thought the Order to be asleep. If not today, tomorrow.

If not tomorrow, the next day.

It wasn't a matter of if they were coming, just when. And either way, they had to leave now. And it was up to Hermione to figure out to where.

With her trust and faith slipping, she had no idea where else to go for shelter. Grimmauld had already been attacked and nowhere was safe. The snatchers, more than willing to give up her camp to the higher ups, consumed the forests. Every resistance member's house had been destroyed and hiding among the muggles would mean suicide.

Suddenly, Hermione was seized with an overwhelming longing for her parents. Where they were, she no longer knew and she in no way would risk trying to find them for her own selfish reasons. But, it snatched at her innards to be away from them, uncertain of their whereabouts or if they were even alive. She would have thought it comforting to not find any bodies, or hear news of her parents' death through the radio she kept nestled beneath her bed, but it only left her restless.

The ocean breeze picked up, brushing against her face and taking with it her hair. She huddled in her jumper, the chill that reached her unnatural and unwelcome.

Taking a calming breath, Hermione opened her eyes to the scenery before her. The grass swayed harmlessly along with the wind, a small rustle of amusement as it changed its direction, blew a little harder, a little softer. There was the distant crash of waves against the sandy shore beneath them, the water always too cold for any of them to go in but always lovely to look at despite the constant fog.

This had grown into her home over the past months, now she was forced to leave and it was all of her own doing. There would be no chance of coming back, and even if there was the place was likely to be torn apart. The room she and Ginny had painted with dragons and merpeople would be burned to the ground no doubt.

Another deep, slow breath. She inhaled the familiar salt, the clear taste of water on her tongue as her mouth eased open. And then there was another, fine smell. Hermione tilted her head upwards, breathing in the fragrance and then stopping short.

Minute but strong enough for her to recognize, she smelled the freshness of citrus, of oak, steam, and strength and finely pressed linen. A flash of a smile, moonlit blonde hair seared her mind and instantly her eyes tore open.

Her body rigid, she pulled out her wand, ready for an attack. But, all was still. Was she imagining things again?

Hermione's eyes sprinted over her surroundings, wand pointed at the defenseless lawn in wait.

"I know you're out there," she hissed out into the open, sure of her insanity but unwilling to drop her wand all the same. The air replied with silence but she held her ground, stiff against the breeze that tried to topple her over as it did the grass.

With no real sense of where he was, but knowing definitively that he was somewhere out there, she shot out a spell. It continued on through the darkness until it hit a far off tree, splitting it in two.

"Well, then, I guess I better come out before you splice me," a collected voice sneered from somewhere to her left. She swerved on her heels, wand suddenly aimed at a very composed Draco Malfoy, hands raised in the air in surrender and a coy expression planted on his face.

"You little rat. Where are the others? On their way? Well, you're too late because the others have left," Hermione huffed, never moving her wand away from the fine wrinkle between Malfoy's eyebrows. The wrinkle creased even more in response to her accusations, and he shook his head slowly, a small smile growing disgustingly on his face.

"No, no others. Just me." Hermione's scowl faltered, she blinked. Quickly, she composed herself, eyes narrowing into slits.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy?"

"What I've always been playing at," he replied casually, his smile growing. Carefully, testing the waters, he wiggled his fingers and began to lower his arms. When Hermione's arm stiffened, wand slightly extended even further, he froze. He watched her meticulously, as did she.

"Granger, do you really think I'd come here, without a wand in my hand, if I meant harm?" He looked sincerely puzzled. Hermione grit her teeth, unwilling to give in to this man's hoaxes. She was certain there were others just waiting for his command beyond the hill, waiting for her to slip up.

"Let's see. You broke through my ward. You pillaged my mind, you're the hand to the devil himself. Ah, no, you mean no harm. Certainly," she ridiculed with spite. He had the audacity to laugh.

"You do hold a grudge, Granger."

Why hadn't she killed him yet? Why, why, why had she made that rule? She could almost see green spouting from the tip of her wand.

"Now, now. Don't do anything you'll regret," he hummed, eyebrows poised in anticipation for her to curse him to his grave. He still had his hands up, and there was no wand in sight, so she couldn't say he'd attacked her. But, Merlin, killing him sounded like a good idea.

"I highly doubt I'd regret getting rid of you," she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Then why didn't you do so earlier? Your dear Weasley was more than ready to do your bidding," Malfoy eagerly reminded her. She grimaced and his replying smirk only made her livid.

"Where are the others?" She snapped.

"They would have killed you by now, you know-"

"Oh, bullocks-" she shot.

"-if it weren't for me."

She stared at him. "What the hell are you talking about?" She could feel the enamel of her teeth grinding off.

He chuckled, turning his head slightly towards the cottage and giving a small nudge to indicate it. "They would have died at Grimmauld if not for me."

"Liar! You were going to kill me only a few hours ago," she hissed, her body shaking with what she hoped was rage. She wasn't sure anymore.

"No, I wasn't. I had the chance, multiple times, and I didn't do it. Now why is that, Granger?" He asked, watching her with those uncanny gray eyes. She felt uncomfortable under their gaze, and she found herself looking everywhere but at him.

"You're a coward. It doesn't change just because you've been promoted."

She heard a low hiss. "Watch yourself," he warned. Finally, she was able to turn her focus to his face. She glared at him, concentrating on how he crumbled under her incessant stare. His eyes, her eyes, they were both ablaze with a challenge but to what? To kill?

Hermione had no doubt in her mind that he was nothing but a liar, but she couldn't figure out his game just yet. A little voice in her head thought otherwise, but she was quick to silence it.

"Not only will I watch myself, I'll keep an eye on you as well. Your wand," she ordered, liking the taste of her command as it rolled off her lips. His eyes sparked with anger as he reached into his pocket. She was ready for any attack, prepared to finally kill him if he did try anything.

But, instead, he reached out between them with his wand towards her. With a flick of her own, he was disarmed and she held in her hands his only weapon.

For a moment, they stood in silence, gazes locked on one another. His was unreadable, which made her stomach curdle. The more she looked at him, studied the features on his face, the turns of his bones and the lines that creased over them the more of a headache came pounding on her end, as if it were trying to push something forward until it exploded through her skull. She was concentrating so diligently on trying to figure out the puzzle this madman presented her, that she'd grown daft to the situation unfolding within her home.

"Hermione?" Ron's distinct voice called from the cottage. Malfoy's eyebrows rose in a mixture of amusement and dismay as Hermione jumped in her skin at the sound.

"Left, you said?" Malfoy mumbled. She sneered at him, directing him towards the cottage with her wand as her eyes racked over the land once more. Still, she waited for an attack but none came.

"Hermione, what the blazing hell is going on? Malfoy?" Ron squeaked, mouth agape as he took in Hermione chauffeuring the deatheater through the Order's door. Everyone stopped working when Malfoy stepped inside, staring with heated eyes. Some were even reaching into their pockets for their wands.

"Stand down. He's a prisoner. Ron, get the cuffs I keep in my room."

"Your what?" He asked, confused. Hermione sighed, not wanting to deal with his inability to understand muggle contraptions.

Luckily Mr. Weasley stood by the staircase. "Oh!" He said cheerfully. "Those metal bracelets! I've got them," he chimed as he rushed upstairs. He seemed to be the only one with a light heart in the room.

She watched as the tension accumulated in the front room. Ginny, back in from carting supplies out, stood frozen at the kitchen threshold.

"Malfoy? Hermione, what's going on?"

"I found him outside. I don't believe there are others, but we're still leaving. He's coming with us."

"Why don't you just kill 'im?" A sweltering voice carried over from the couch. Sharp eyes turned to Seamus, who shrugged under the scrutiny of others but nonetheless toning down his rage. "It's easier. We have enough of a hard time feeding people, 'Mione."

"He's more valuable alive," was her only answer as Arthur came rushing back down with the handcuffs Hermione had acquired. Muggle items had become convenient, especially these. She was the only one with the key to them, and a spell she'd created over her time with the Order, with a little help from trusted colleagues, promised the inability to unlock them through magic.

She snapped them onto Malfoy's wrists, ignoring the small spark that raced through her fingertips as they brushed against his skin. She noticed his hands clench, and smiled with pleasure.

"This is a little ridiculous," he muttered. Without warning, Hermione was at his ear, her hands on his arms as she pushed him forward while the others went back to gathering their things.

"You're an idiot if you think you can lie straight through your teeth to me. I don't trust you, and I will keep you in these damn things until I finally see the end to your _lord_, and when I do, I'll personally escort you to Azkaban," she whispered heatedly before leaning away from him. His eyes were turned to her, shock just barely masking the flicker of anxiety he'd had from her proximity. She barely had time to register and analyze his expression when someone's hand was on her shoulder, calling her attention.

"Are you ready to leave?" Viktor asked, and she could feel Malfoy tense in front of her.

"Not really, but we don't have a choice now do we. I have a spot in mind, it should do for now until we can gather information on a more permanent place. Is everything ready to go?" She asked, scanning over the others as she fiddled with a few coins she'd fashioned into portkeys earlier.

"On your order," he replied with a small smile. Her nerves jumped, all jumbled in her stomach as she gave him a stiff nod. She was the leader for now, and had been for the past few weeks in Kingsley's stead, as she'd been second in command before, but now she felt the true burden of it impact her.

She was leading them down a road she was sure had holes, and a possible cliff at the end.

But despite the uncertainty she felt in her gut, Hermione knew she had a debt to these people and a responsibility to keep them alive.

"Let's go," she called out to the others, and immediately everyone filled out of the cottage in pairs, coins in hand, with Hermione at the rear with Malfoy.

"You have no idea what you're doing," Malfoy mocked quietly, for only her to hear. She shook her head in disbelief. How could he be so cocky, when she had him dangling by a very loose thread?

"And you have no idea who you're messing with."

One hand on her portkey and the other on Malfoy's wrist, Hermione pressed down and felt the sickening pull of apparition.


	5. Chapter 5

_Bam!_

_With a loud clatter, quills and textbooks fell to the floor around tangled legs. Beneath the rubble came the undeniable heaving breaths of two lovers._

_Hermione sucked in a gasp as divine lips imprinted themselves on the curve of her neck, a tongue slithering out to lather the supple spot before teeth, determined and hungry, bit down on her flesh to mark her as his. A groan escaped her, her head falling back into a hand that had somehow found its way behind her, under her shirt, and in her hair where it tugged. She could feel every part of him pressed against her, each muscle tightening as a battle was fought within him. Her usually pressed shut legs found themselves pried open and he was eager to close the annoying space between them._

_Something was probing at her inner thigh, fierce and hot against her. Urgently, her body responded to the touch and she grabbed at him. A spreading fire consumed her electrified skin, her bones clattering together as he wandered about her, devouring her. She couldn't help the yearning that had her whimpering, hissing against his ear as she returned his burning affection with haste._

_Her hands were all over, grabbing at his fine pressed shirt, crinkling it under her grasp as she pulled at it. She was sculpting his heaving chest, his skin breaking into shivers with each touch she administered. Then they were in his blonde locks, tugging at them and clinging to them as an anchor. His kisses became more vicious, turning her skin raw as he moved down her neck to her chest. He tasted her pulse, her collarbone, the sweat and the perfume, racked his teeth against her and nibbled away at her crumbling resistance to - letting his eager fingers travel up her skirt._

_Her hands clenched tighter on his hair as he pushed her further down the table they were mistreating so violently. Turning away from her heated chest, the blonde-haired lover pressed his lips against her own, fervently moving against them until she opened them to his sly tongue. It dived in, stroking her muscle slowly, rhythmically with the subtle pelvic thrusts that pressed against her and sent jolts to her core._

_Desperate, she pulled him even closer, yanking him onto the table with her and wrapping her legs around his hips without a single care in the world for her surroundings, for her morals. There was a tension building inside of her, winding and winding up until the coil threatened to throttle itself upwards through her spine and send her into oblivion._

_Losing her balance, she fell backwards with him and thudded against the wood surface. It didn't stop the advances. Instead, it fed them. His hands grew even more daring as he continued his assaults on her mouth and pelvis. Nimble fingers found their target under her outfit, hooking around her underwear and giving a forceful tug that tore at the hem. But what she thought was his attempt to pull them off turned out to be something entirely different._

_She screamed into his mouth as his hand found its mark, pressing against the weakness between her thighs and abusing it with skilled moves that left her writhing. She pulled away from his kisses, her head pressing against the table in hopes of calming the spasms that were reaching a boiling point inside of her._

"_S-stop," she gasped, jerking as he continued to stroke her, his head in the nook of her neck. His breaths fell heavy on her skin, soaking her pores in heated lust and intoxicating her as it seeped into her. Without consent, her hips were rolling, gyrating against his hand with a vigor that had her blushing bright red. _

"_Ah, Draco… please!"_

"_No begging," he chuckled, though she could feel his voice rattle with nerves. He was tightly wound as well, the rigid length that pushed against her thigh was enough evidence of this. "Just let go." It sounded almost like a plea._

_With a simple flick of his fingers, she was sent into darkness._

Heaving, Hermione leapt up from the comfort of her pillow. Wide eyed and strangely overheated, she looked about her. The bleak canvas of a tent surrounded her, the sheets flapping daintily in the gentle breeze. Her trunk lay on the other side, a small stretch of space between it and her that contained a table cluttered with maps and scrolls. Seeing the wooden table, Hermione shivered and moved to get out of her bed.

A small sigh beside her petrified her. Glancing over as discreetly as possible, Hermione caught the sight of a sleeping Viktor, his rugged face's wrinkles smoothed over in the peace of a dream. His strong, prominent lips were curved upwards in the ghost of a smile, his body completely vulnerable beside her. And, also, naked as far as she could see with biceps and chiseled chest on display for her.

And yet, that was not what had her legs locked against a building pressure in her lower regions.

She brushed away a clump of hair that stuck to her clammy face, trying to calm herself with deep breaths as she slipped out of the bed.

Tiptoeing across the frostbitten floor, Hermione grabbed the jumper that lay limp against her trunk and pulled it over her nightgown.

With wand in hand, she left the tent in hopes that the freezing air would bring her body to its senses.

The bitterness hit her as soon as she opened the tent flaps, cold slapping her cheeks and leaving them scarlet. It awakened her senses while dousing the flames of the other sensations that lingered in her body from the dream or, rather, nightmare she'd awoken from.

But still, the print of his hands against her bare thighs flared. She could still feel him breathing against her ear, chanting her name with reverence over her moans. It intoxicated her.

"Fuck," she exhaled, a puff of smoke reaching from her mouth, a spirit exercised. She folded her arms about her, goosebumps not particular to the cold but more to the flesh memory of her vivid dream prickling her. Her body shivered in remembrance.

She surveyed her surroundings: her new temporary camp for the rebellion. It was still dark, but the small lights from the neighboring tents momentarily lifted the shroud of night to let her take in the rocky island of Gotland, Norway. It was a small sanctuary she'd researched a time ago, when her worries were focused on finding the next horcrux with Harry and not the complete safety of a herd of people. It was a desolate place, the native muggles tucked away in the more central locations of the island. They were at the cusp of it, their camp overlooking the edge of a sharp cliff that echoed the crashing waves below them. They lay on a slope and, for a few days, people who actually knew how to fish (she wasn't one of them) walked down to the beach fifteen minutes or so down the island and gathered their food from the sea. In the daytime, their camp was a sight to behold with rich green foliage and clear blue ocean water but at night, in the encroaching darkness of their situation, it was not inviting.

There were no stars tonight.

There was a skewed row of personal tents, filled with families and groups of friends sleeping inside. A few of the more experienced members took patrol around the perimeter, checking the charms set on the site and wands aimed at any unseen threat that might arise in the shadows of night. But, tonight the only enemy was the unforgiving cold.

And, of course, the tenant of the central tent, surrounded by a small fleet of Order members just for precaution's sake. Hermione moaned in pain at the thought of him, only a few feet away, and rubbed at the pulsing migraine.

"_What do you mean we don't have veritaserum?" Hermione shot through her teeth, Seamus shrinking away from her steady glare. They stood across from one another, the only thing protecting him from a good throttling the table that lay in the middle of her quarters. On it lay all of her potions, except for a few. And one of the few missing was the only one she really cared about at the time being._

"_I didn't know we had it," came his feeble excuse, fanning the flames that heated Hermione's face. Viktor, standing a pace away by the tent's entrance grimaced, shifting in his spot. No doubt he was contemplating whether to intervene before she burst._

_Hermione was pinching her nose, reminding herself that hitting others was not the answer. Violence was not the answer, never the answer. But, damn, it felt like the right thing to do. She was just so wound up, so strained from everything that she felt the need to let loose on the next person to aggravate her._

"_There was only one thing I asked, and that was for you to collect the bottles that were in the pantry! Isn't that what I said? Every bottle, no matter what you thought it was?" She seethed, her molten brown eyes boring into the innocent wooden surface of her table._

"_Yes, but I didn't see that one. I grabbed everything I saw-"_

"_There are five potions missing. Five, but I'm alright with the others that aren't here. Just, how on earth are we supposed to get anywhere with Malfoy without the veritaserum? Seamus," Hermione groaned, stroking her sore, goaded nerves as she pressed at her temples. "Seamus, why."_

"_Sorry, 'Mione," he grumbled sheepishly, shoving his hands into his pockets before she could decide to cut them off._

_Her eyes turned to Viktor, who shrugged in defeat._

"_Legilimens is the only viable option now."_

_They were fucking screwed._

And they had been, in a way. Three days now of them camping out in the cold, with people more than willing to toss themselves over the side of the cliff. Three days and members were tired of the fish, tired of the salty air despite its similarities to Shell Cottage's breeze. Everyone wanted to leave, but Hermione wasn't going to until she got what she needed out of Draco Malfoy.

"_He's giving us everything. To add to the movements of deatheaters towards the middle east he gave yesterday, he's shown the headquarters they have there," Arthur said with a look of disbelief as he sat down on the folding chair by the fire. It was dusk, and his face was painted pink and orange, drawing out the deep lines in the hollow of his cheeks, the bags under his eyes. He shoved his wand into his pocket and reached for the bowl of fish broth Hermione handed to him._

"_No, he's not. He's hiding something, I know it. It's not possible. We have to tire him out, and then try again, then we'll see what he's blocking from us," she stated firmly before dipping into the foggy liquid in her bowl. It swirled around distastefully and she could swear she spotted an eyeball in there._

_Frowning, she put the dish down on the floor and focused on keeping the flickering campfire alive._

"_I don't know, Hermione. And even if he was and we succeeded in breaking through, how are we to know it's not a lie too? If he's trying to trick us, why not reveal something at the end that isn't real?" He replied, disgruntled as he took a sip of his own soup. Making a face, he glanced from the broth to the pot over the fire and back to Hermione, who tossed her hands into the air._

"_I didn't make it," she was quick to say. He shook his head, pushing aside thoughts of drab food for the more enticing, drab situation they were stuck in._

"_I just know, Arthur. He can't be our informant, and he's not showing us who is or if that person is still alive."_

"_Either way, we can't trust anything that manages to reach us. Not anymore."_

_Hermione sighed, slouching in her creaking seat. "I know, I know."_

_Arthur studied her for a moment, a look of pity flashing through his eyes before Hermione turned to him._

"_You know we could end it. He says he'll show everything to you too, no hiding, nothing."_

"_But it's a lie," she insisted as she shot her arms forth into the air in agitation. There was a fearful blaze in her eyes, determined and raw with emotions he could not decipher. "He's just trying to get into my head, to trick me. I won't give in to his requests. You're better at it anyways."_

_He dropped it, giving a small nod of acceptance. "And what do we do with him after we manage to get anything worthy out of him?"_

_She looked at the ground for a moment, picking apart the specks of dirt and rock there, wondering if in the cracks of the stone had the answers she sought._

_Pursing her lips, Hermione looked to the horizon, squinting as the glare of the setting sun held her stare._

"_We obliviate, take his wand, and leave him here to the muggles- possibly find him a temporary job. Once everything is over, we know where to find him and bring him in for justice."_

_When she was met with silence, Hermione glanced over at Arthur Weasley, the man who'd become a father to her; something she had needed for so long, had yearned for after giving up her own._

_He was looking at her with affection, a gentle smile on his face. "I'm proud of you, Hermione. I want you to know that. No matter what happens."_

But he shouldn't have been.

Opening her eyes, Hermione's senses were exposed to the sound of people arguing, a rustle and a clash of items, of bodies. Immediately, she thought the worst. Her wand was in a chokehold in her hand as she inspected the area, watching as the group outside of the prisoner's tent funneled inside of it.

"What the hell?" She was off, sprinting to the scene, her hearing picking up laughter, and a stream of curses coming from inside.

She stood outside, stuck behind male bodies and recognized that of Neville. She tugged at his shoulder, turning his unprepared body towards her. He was caught off balance and wobbled.

"Hermione? I thought you were asleep," he blurted, shock making him frantic. She shook her head and started moving past him, past the others that were blocking her way.

"What's going on in here, move," she ordered and finally stumbled into the room where she witnessed a raging redhead pounding his fist into none other than Draco Malfoy's precious, pureblood face.

And all the while, Malfoy's bloody lips were spread in a smile that only widened when he caught sight of the put-off witch.

"Ah, Granger!" He exclaimed before the fist could come down again, making Ron freeze in place. Her friend turned on the spot to notice Hermione standing there, one hand poised to slam down on Malfoy's bruised left cheek and the other curled around the deatheater's collar. "I was just asking Weasley here how dear Potter was doing."

Ron, whose face was already red hot turned a deadly shade of purple. In a flash, he was burrowing his fist into Malfoy's face. "You fucking, filthy bastard!" He roared.

"RON!" Hermione yelled, stopping him again before he could kill Malfoy with the amount of bludgers to the head he was taking.

"'Mione, please just let me fucking kill him. He's wasting all of our time," he hissed, even as he made to stand up, shoving Malfoy to the floor where he stayed. Hermione stared at the sight before her, glancing back at the others who'd done nothing but watch, and realized she was in the minority that wanted to keep the piece of shit before them alive.

"Ron, out," was all she could manage to say. They stared at each other in silence, her defiant against his rage. He scowled, brushing his fist against his face before barging past her and the others. Soon after, the rest of the members moved out, except for Neville.

"Sorry, 'Mione," he mumbled.

"Neville. Why was Ron watching Malfoy?" Hermione asked, keeping her eyes on the post in the middle of the tent. She was trying to keep herself from screaming, or crying. Whatever bothered to come first.

She could feel her friend's unease.

"I'd gone to get some coffee that Ginny was making for us, so I asked him to keep watch for a lil' bit. Just a lil' bit," he tried to explain, but even he could see the cracks in his reasoning. There had been others he could have entrusted. Dean, one of Viktor's recruits, anyone outside besides Ron.

"Just, go Neville."

"But, I gotta keep wa-"

"I'll do it, Neville. Go get some rest," she mumbled, shaking her head tiredly.

Soon after, she heard the flap shut behind Longbottom.

And the chuckling started again, prickling her last nerves. Her lips twitched, but she fought the snarl building up inside of her. Hermione probably knew it was a bad idea to take on the responsibility of keeping an eye on Malfoy, but she wasn't getting any sleep and apparently no one around her was competent past midnight.

She tore her eyes from the safety of the post and glanced over at Malfoy, who was struggling to sit back up against said post with his hands still cuffed and tied to the pole behind him. He spat out a wad of blood, grimacing as it splattered over the cold ground.

"Sensitive twat, he is," he grumbled with a sneer, his piercing gray eyes turning on her where they stayed as the two fought a silent battle. She scowled, turning away from his stare and moving to the only seat in the tent. He was still smiling, cocky despite the red splotch that spread over the side of his face.

She was quick to look away from said lips, staring instead at the blood on the floor. Ron was a bloody idiot.

There was a snicker and Hermione's gaze flickered back to Malfoy, who was still with that annoying, arrogant smile on his face. His teeth were pink, but he sure wasn't acting like he'd gotten the shit beat out of him.

"I'm concerned. Do you have a concussion? Is that why you're laughing like a hyena over there?" She muttered, crossing her arms as she leaned back into her seat. Despite the fact that morning was already among them, it felt like the night that kept people asleep in their cots would last forever.

"No," he replied, humored beyond any reason she could configure. "I'm just amused by how easily triggered your little pet is. Tell me, do you have any control over your crew? I thought you wanted me alive, and yet none of your recruits seemed motivated to keep me in top shape for your interrogations," Malfoy chimed, comfortable against his post; far too comfortable for a prisoner of war.

Hermione fought to keep her composure, but managed to keep her face flat. The last thing she wanted was for Malfoy to believe he'd gotten to her. She had a temper, but it didn't hold a candle to Ron's.

"I never said you were not to be harmed," she countered, smug. "In fact, I should let them entertain themselves with you."

"Oh, Granger. I thought you were running a rebellion, not a brothel," he retorted with a sly grin.

Hell, she wanted to punch him.

Adjusting herself to become more than comfortable for the long watch ahead of her, Hermione looked over Malfoy with a look of pure distaste. "Don't hold yourself in such high regard, Malfoy. Not even the most desperate would touch you with a ten-foot pole."

"I think you're exaggerating now, Granger," he said with a small laugh that quickly died out under her threatening stare. He fell silent, his gaze glazing over as he leaned his head back. He kept looking at her, unyielding and perturbing. She was itching to leave, but determined to show that he didn't bother her.

But he did. And she had a sickening feeling he knew it.

The discreet upwards slant of his lips was enough of a sign that she was right. She pursed her own, wiggling about in her seat for a moment before settling back down and placing her focus on the sway of the tent's sides. The cream cover was tinted with the gray of early dawn, the dye sprawled from the bottom slowly, tediously. Arthur and the others would be back from patrol soon to switch off with her and a few others. But, it was taking too long for her liking.

"Even you?" Came a silky voice that jerked her out of her skin.

"What?" She snapped, letting her comfortable façade fall regretfully as she turned to face off with him again. He was already grinning.

She bit back a snarl.

"I said, even you?"

"Even me what?" She grumbled, rolling her eyes at his incompetence. He didn't seem effected, his gaze steady on her face as if he were studying its every subtle curve, movement. It was disturbing.

"Even you don't want to touch me, with a ten foot pole?" He inquired, dead serious. She scoffed, laughing outright at this.

"Definitely not me. Are you completely daft?"

"I did take a few punches to the head. It's possible, but I don't think so," he replied with ease. His eyes slid closed, his lips curved delicately in delight. He was having such a good laugh at her expense.

She wanted to throttle him. Her fingers clenched around her midsection at the mere thought of strangling him and ending her frustration.

It was a foul idea, being here. She should have let Neville come back, even if she was pissed.

There were a few seconds of bliss, silence filling her ears and mind. It misled her into thinking that peace was possible.

"I don't believe you."

For fuck's sake. She sighed, closing her eyes and chanting that killing him was not the answer.

"Is that so?" She retorted, sarcasm dripping from her pores. Her eyes were still closed, and she dropped her head behind her, grimacing as the joints creaked and cracked.

She could feel his annoyance at her disinterest. It almost made her smile. Almost.

"Why aren't you asleep?" He asked nonchalantly. She breathed in slowly.

"None of your business."

"Oh, please. We both know I'm not here to find out your secrets."

"That's complete bull shit coming out of your mouth right now. It's hilarious how you think I'm dumb enough to believe anything you say, Malfoy," she shot from her relaxing spot. Or, at least it was supposed to be relaxing.

"That's a shame. So, why aren't you asleep?" He continued, undeterred.

"I have rounds," she grated.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because you apparently can't keep your nasty mouth shut, you ass hole," she shot as her head snapped up to glare at him. "Do you have a death wish?"

His eyes sparked something dangerous for a moment, then dulled as he gave a striking smile, if not for the fact that he was bathed in filth.

"Possibly. What else waits me once you finish your inquiries in my mind, which for the record should be done by now. I've shown everything I know," he stated with dismay. She wanted to smack the disappointed look off his face.

"Sure you have."

"You want to take a look for yourself?" He asked, an eyebrow cocked upwards as a challenge. She scoffed at him, finally giving a laugh of ridicule.

"I don't want to look at you, let alone have to go through your thoughts and memories," she shot, rattled by the smoldering look that was growing with strength in his eyes. He wasn't breaking his stare, and it reminded her of her nightmare.

She stifled a shudder.

"You're scared." Blunt, out of his mind.

"Of what?" She was sure he had a concussion.

He was smiling again, knowing. "You're scared of finding something similar to what I found the other night, and how it'd make you feel."

She restrained herself, her fingers digging into her hips. She held herself back. She was really trying. Hermione deserved an award.

"You mean what you planted. You don't fool me, Malfoy. You never have, never will, so you can drop the pretenses," she heatedly snapped, only to his deranged delight. His smile never fell.

"You didn't deny it."

"Deny what?" She huffed, completely agitated. Damn it, he was winning. The prick.

"Deny that you're scared. Somewhere, in the recesses of your mind, you're curious about me. You have dreams about me. You say you wouldn't touch me, but you're the one with the pretenses," he crooned, gray orbs sharply focused on her every move in hopes of catching a reaction. She struggled, but managed to stay somewhat neutral. If red cheeks were neutral.

She fought the instinct to rip into his mind and tear off his mask, to bring him to his knees. He was a pain in her ass, in all of their asses, and she was regretting walking in and keeping Ron from beating him up to death. Why hadn't she?

Feet approached the tent, murmured voices, and then Arthur's head popped inside. He looked anxious as he assessed the suffocating tension.

"Hermione," he stated simply, unsure if he should call her out for patrol just yet.

"Right on it, Arthur," she replied without tearing her gaze from Malfoy, whose smile faltered at the man's entrance.

Finally, she rose from her seat and, with a last dagger shot at Malfoy, she moved out of the tent.

"He's all yours," she remarked as she passed Arthur, who replied with a nervous laugh.

She really needed to stay away from this specific tent.

* * *

"Hermione," came a whimper from behind.

"Don't." A warning, a strong one at that.

"I'm sorry, but-"

"Neville, if you value your life-"

"Oh, I do, Hermione, I really do. But, see, Luna is asking for assistance with Kingsley in his tent. He's got infections that aren't going away, since a few minor ingredients Luna needed got left behind at Shell. She needs me to go looking for them, and the others are out on patrol and, well, Ron is the only one free right now, and-" He was following Hermione, but at a distance as she barreled through the campsite, putting a ration of supplies she'd gathered in a nearby village in front of each tent.

She was in a foul mood, her nightmares getting worse and worse with each passing day. It wasn't just… kissing or fondling, anymore. Or even sexual exchanges. It varied with the nights, but they were coming stronger. At one point, she could have sworn that, while awake, she'd felt his hands on her. And even Viktor was taking notice.

It was making everything extremely uncomfortable, and as much as she wanted answers as to why it was happening to her, she didn't want to talk to the person who had surely done something to her mind.

"Neville, I swear on everything I hold dear to my heart, if I think you are asking me to do what I think you're asking me to do, I will hex you to death," she stated bluntly as she turned to finally confront him. He stumbled to a stop in front of her and grimaced.

"I need you to babysit Malfoy," he hurled out, because that's what it was now. Babysitting, wow. Everyone thought he needed to be gone, especially since most of the camp knew he'd given a lot to Arthur. And, over the days, all he'd done was sit there and talk to those who came in.

He was a nuisance, and it was again her fault. But, she'd be damned if she didn't find out what was going on. Just, without her actually doing the searching.

Oh, she was being ridiculous.

Sighing, she gave Neville a nod. "Okay, off you go. I'll deal with him. Hurry up, so we can get Kingsley back in shape so I can be knocked off his peg, please."

With a heave of relief, he was off.

Every fiber of her being resisted going into that cursed tent, but she went in with a battle-hardened exterior.

To be greeted with a charming smile.

"Ah, Granger. I was wondering when you'd finally pay me a visit. How do I look?" He asked as he tried to blink. The entire left side of his face refused to move, swollen from Ron's attack. No one had bothered to treat him. Luna had offered, Hermione had denied.

He deserved to get his pretty ego knocked down an inch, but it seemed it didn't happen.

Ignoring his question, she sat down and readied herself for the shift from hell.

"I see, not going to talk. Shame," he muttered. Ignored.

"You see, I've had more than my good share of time to think, and not enough to talk. Well, I would talk with the others except that they're, well, I don't like them much. Besides, most of them wouldn't understand my vocabulary," he rambled. She considered using the muffliato spell to kill the annoying fly buzzing in her ear.

"And so, I've thought a lot over the past few days. Lost track of time, really, but I didn't mind too much, not with what I was trying to figure out. See, I was wondering about what would be unraveling right now back at the Manor. If my aunt would be trying to find me, but I don't think she would."

Who would.

"See, knowing Bellatrix, she'd take another approach to this. She'd try to gain revenge, to toy with you. She loves toying with her food, you know, don't you? She did have fun with that Lovegood girl. She would have had fun with you if those snatchers hadn't lost you in the woods. Oh, she had plans."

She grounded her teeth together, fighting her convulsing fingers, eager to grab her wand.

"Well, see, I was thinking of the fact that she'd want to even the playing field. Seeing as you took me, a family member," he paused, seemingly mulling over his thoughts or, rather, letting her digest the meaning in his words. She could feel herself heating up, from the tips of her toes to very end of every follicle of volatile hair. "Whatever did happen to your muggle parents?"

It was an innocent question. And it set her off.

She was flying across the tent, her wand drawn against his neck and digging into the dip of his jaw. Hermione's mind was reeling, telling her to back off, but the very suggestion of her mother and father overrode any precautions she thought were necessary around Malfoy.

She could feel the sting of angry tears in her eyes as she glared at the coward beneath her. She bent over him, seething, and met his own burning eyes with vigor. "If you even think you could harm my family, I will blast that pathetic excuse of a brain clear out of your head and I won't need my wand to do so," she growled, her breath coming hard and fast.

"That was never my intention," he murmured calmly, though his stormy eyes were alight, battling against her fury.

"Lies," she hissed, slowly growing extremely aware of her proximity to him. She swallowed, her fighting resolve crumbling slightly as her ears picked up on his ragged breathing, as she felt his pulse under the point of her wand. He was inclining his head closer to hers, his face almost touching hers. His breath landed hot against her face, smothering it in his scent and a strange desire to lean even closer.

She found herself glancing more and more at his lips, slightly chapped with cuts from where a fist had split it. Despite that, they were alluring, and flashes of the urgent, borderline cruel kisses in her dreams came forth.

Her own lips fell open; her breathing slowed drastically and so did his. The thin air that sliced between them grew thick with static and desire. Desire she had no business feeling.

"No lies," he breathed, the whisper brushing against her cheeks. Her eyes flickered to his and saw such warmth in them that it startled her more than their proximity. "No pretenses."

She was trying to search for a fault in his sincerity, but her focus was torn as his face inched closer to her own, testing his boundaries. She was stunned into place, his lips so close she could almost taste them against her own. They smelled and looked sweet, with a small tang of iron from the blood. But, they promised pleasure, a pleasure she'd only encountered in sleep.

His eyes were hooded, and she could feel him pulling against his restraints to cover even more ground. He felt so familiar, and she was filled with longing.

"Trust me, this once."

And that's what did it.

With a small jolt, she aimed her wand at his temple.

"Legilimens."


	6. Chapter 6

Books » Harry Potter » **Fragments**

Author: odairrieres

1. Chapter 12. Chapter 23. Chapter 34. Chapter 45. Chapter 56. Chapter 67. Chapter 78. Chapter 89. Chapter 910. Chapter 1011. Chapter 1112. Chapter 1213. Chapter 1314. Chapter 1415. Chapter 15

Rated: M - English - Romance/Drama - Reviews: 19 - Published: 07-03-12 - Updated: 12-08-12

id:8282835

"_My lord," the calm in Draco's voice was his only defense against the rage that now stormed about him in the room. His fingers and nose were frostbitten as the dark lord moved about, his fine nostrils flaring as he took in the scene before him._

_"Kingsley is gone," Voldemort hissed. Draco knew better than to reply. He stood stationary beside his chair, no longer feeling the warmth his fireplace was supposed to supply. The fire had gone out the moment his lord had returned._

_"And the mudblood leader as well, because you let her go," he continued, his voice slicing through the air and slapping Draco across the face. His lord stopped, his hand twitching about the wand in his hand and Draco, well equipped for Voldemort's anger, stiffened in preparation for the onslaught._

_He didn't even have to raise his wand. The skin-tearing agony began, attacking every nerve end and splitting them in two. He clenched his fists, shutting his eyes against the instinct to fall to his knees. They rattled, and his jaw slammed shut in protest. As quick as the punishment had come, it'd left._

_"My lord, I've been setting a plan in motion for months now," Draco cautiously went forward, watching with a hawk's eye as his lord stopped in front of the very portrait Draco had encountered his earlier demise._

_"Then, do share," came the sarcastic remark from his aunt, Bellatrix who stood leaning against the entryway with a crack of a smile on her face. The gaps between her teeth held no match for those in her sanity._

_Malfoy shot her a glare before turning back to the dark lord, whose eyes were keenly on him._

_"I know where the resistance's base is," Draco proceeded, earning a scowl from his aunt. "I gained access to Hermione Granger's memories and pried the information out from there."_

_"We attack, then!" Bellatrix screeched with unraveling excitement, jumping up and down in her spot like a rabbit. Draco glanced over at her, his eyes shooting her down._

_"No, not quite."_

_"Do go on." His lord sounded pleased, red eyes focused on his subject in light of the new developments. Draco could tell that the next few words to come out of his mouth could determine his fate in the ranks. Even Bellatrix appeared to be ardently interested, if only to see how badly her nephew could fail._

_"I plan to infiltrate the resistance, going to their location on my own accord, possibly toni-"_

_"Oh, because that will work just brilliantly! The filthy wench will be pleased to see you at her door, asking to be the latest recruit!" cried Bellatrix, outrage and disbelief tearing his eardrums to shreds. She was near salivating, showing a fierceness about her that would have made him cringe if not for the deranged twitch she couldn't quite shake._

_He held back a scowl as he watched the only one who mattered, pacing back and forth in front of the portrait, his emaciated, long fingers petting the slender wand that held all the power. It could easily bring anyone in the room to his or her knees. And by the distant, cold look on his master's face, Draco could not tell if he was to be done with._

_"And how do you expect to gain their trust?" He hissed, pensive as he slowed to a stop in front of the eastern window, the ghastly moonlight revealing the bloody veins beneath his papier-mâché exterior. He was translucent, even more so than usual. There was a desperate edge to his movements as he looked out into the darkness he alone created, and a hunger._

_Draco took care of where he dared to tread around this creature._

_"By showing them everything I know on our planned movements through Europe and the Middle East, presenting myself as an open book," Draco continued severely, clenching his jaw when his lord visually froze._

_"This is madness! Treachery," Bellatrix howled, storming through the room to her nephew's side. Seething, she pointed a crooked wand at his jugular. Quick to react, Draco withdrew his own._

_"SILENCE." Voldemort did not need to move, or demand Bellatrix to withdraw for her to do so. She retreated, curling in on herself as if punched, but Draco did not lower his wand._

_The tension zapped at him, the small hairs on the back of his neck poised, on edge._

_"Draco," came the call. The Malfoy heir turned his attention to his master, who beckoned him over with his eyes. He was diligent not to take long, and within seconds he was by Voldemort's side._

_"Draco, I trust you. I trust you not to disappoint me," he went on to say, red eyes piercing into the man before him, searching for faults and finding none. Because Draco could not afford to falter, not now._

_"Tonight, you will go. You will go, and you will find entrance into their home, and into their trust. You will not fail me," he demanded, his words concrete and heavy on Draco's shoulders._

_"I will not fail you, my liege."_

Swirling, Hermione yanked herself out of the chilled memory. She was falling, and felt herself slam down on the ground opposite the detained Malfoy. The agony that soared upwards from her tailbone did not match the pounding in her head, the increased agitation, and the bewilderment that was steadily settling in.

She was having trouble looking anywhere without seeing spots of light.

Blinking, Hermione chanced a glance at her prisoner, the source of all this confusion. His gaze was steady, unyielding, and expectant. There was not an ounce of rage or shock at being found out so easily.

"You fucking little liar!" She exclaimed past the stabbing pain in her head. "I knew it!"

"Do you really think I'd let you see that so easily if I hadn't wanted you to see it?" Malfoy drawled, annoyance finally making an appearance.

She glared at him and attempted to tear down his mask only to find the exact same, peeved face.

"Why did you let me see it then?"

"Why do you think?" He sighed, hitting his head against the pole behind him. Her cheeks flared bright red.

"I think you didn't mean for me to see that," she huffed, indignant. He snickered, shaking his head in sheer disbelief.

"I'm the right hand of the dark lord, don't you think I can hide my memories quite well? Honestly, I didn't think you'd cast me as this dimwitted," he scoffed. "I'm not trying to hide anything, not from you at least."

"And why is that? Why not show that to Arthur?" She eyed him cautiously.

"Because I don't trust him enough, I don't trust anyone here to be quite frank, after that sell-out at the ministry," he admitted with a sly grin.

She scrutinized him in silence.

"You're tricking me into trusting you," she decided.

"No, I'm not tricking you into trusting me. I'm just trying to get you to trust me. There is a difference," he muttered. When he met her incredulous expression, he bit back a groan. "Oh, for bloody sake, Granger! I'm the informant, I've been trying to gain your trust for months, I've been playing both sides while keeping your bloody lot in mind all the while. That is why I showed you that memory, why I revealed my secrets to Arthur- but only the ones I told you-know-who I would. Only to you do I entrust all the facts."

"Why? Why would you do that? You've been born into your role, and you've been doing a bloody good job at it too. Why stop and smell the roses now?" She muttered bitterly.

Malfoy's irritation increased ten fold as he fought for the right words to say, scowling at the far end of the tent.

"I've been smelling them for a while, if I've been your informant since Hogwarts. But if you must know why I decided to help you and reveal myself now, it's because of that night," he admitted. His gaze turned on her then, bold and fierce with an underlying intention that left her feeling bare.

"You're kidding. That doesn't even make any sense, how could that invasion of my privacy have made you an informant three months prior?" she accused ever so elegantly, a scowl on her face.

"I meant," Malfoy started, only to groan and bash his head against the pole behind him. She could see him struggling against something she had a sneaking suspicion was his own stubborn pride. "I meant that ever since the battle, I've been having these little… incidents that happen to have included you in some shape or form, or compromising position." His eyes burned through her clothes and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat on the floor.

"It was a contributing factor to my attempts to help the resistance, to say the least," he ended, begrudgingly.

"You sound ever so willing to fight for the cause," she droned, brushing off his distracting stare.

"Oh, please. If I didn't want this war to end well for you, I would have found a way to ignore those annoying little dreams and go on with my life as a deatheater. I never wanted this to happen, any of it, but seeing as it has, I chose a side I was most comfortable with," he admitted, almost unwillingly.

"I don't believe you."

"Oh, fucking hell, could you just use sense already! Shit, I thought you were supposed to be bright," he muttered crossly.

Hermione glared at him. "If you haven't noticed, you've been a complete ass hole since the first day I met you and thus far you haven't changed. For someone who has aligned with us, you sure act like a prick. You were out of line that night at the Manor, and you sure could have fooled anyone watching as to which side you were on," she snapped.

He laughed bitterly.

"Oh, yes. I should have just sat you down by the fire and conversed freely with you. Oh, and should I have invited my aunt who was watching my every move like a vulture?" He eyed her, and she pursed her lips in defiance of the obvious.

"Besides, I thought I could trust you fully then, seeing what hid under that rough exterior," Malfoy jeered, that devious grin making a reappearance. Her blush spread, engulfing her entire head and creeping down her chest.

"I don't know what that was," she blubbered, her scowl faltering under his dangerously heated stare.

"Neither do I, but I know it meant something what with the reoccurrences before and after. Whatever it was, it opened the floodgates. I've dreamt of you more often," he sighed, as if it were all a chore. She couldn't agree with him more on that part, but she wasn't about to admit to her own increasing nightmares.

She fiercely shook her head, pushing herself up to stand, to leave. She had overstayed her own welcome and hoped someone would come to take her shift, and quickly.

"You still don't believe me," he groaned, deflated against the post. She paused from adjusting her clothes and looked over at the haggard body of Draco Malfoy, the way his pale skin looked in the dim lighting of the tent, the bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, the dried luster of his face and eyes, and the significance in his defeated shoulders. His proud posture had withered away so quickly.

She stared at him in silence, him meeting her gaze but no longer pleading, no burning, no nothing. He didn't even look cocky.

"What am I supposed to do? I can't believe you, it's practically in my DNA," Hermione sighed, standing there awkwardly. Her gaze flickered over to the tent flaps, wondering when or if the answer would come barreling in magically.

"You once said that trust is the only thing that holds you together now, trust and hope. But, those two things are the same, wouldn't you say?" He stated dryly, borderline sarcastic as he bore his eyes into the tent canvas.

She froze, stunned as she tried to think of any time she might have said that. "I sent that to-" she muttered, but her throat clenched together, refusing to finish as she peered over to see the cocky smile's return on Malfoy's face. He was looking at her now, enjoying the mixture of unpleasant emotions splattered across her face.

"To me," came the smug reply.

* * *

"I don't like this," she muttered to herself, arms crossed as she paced in front of the large kitchen table. The steady chopping of vegetables and the bubbling of a pot behind it kept her in time as she walked, the own constant pounding in her head an unwelcome accompaniment. She hadn't been able to get rid of it, for days now, as she watched the vermin walk around her camp.

"No one really does. Except for Luna. She seems ecstatic to have a new helper," Ginny replied dryly, green eyes watching her friend as she slowly unraveled. She was orchestrating the dicing of carrots and beets, and the boiling of fish after her mother left to fetch ingredients for a family tea meant to speed up Kingsley's healing.

Merlin, Hermione hoped the man would be on his feet soon. She'd had a talk with him over her newest predicament and sadly, it had proven his sanity to be corrupt.

"I can't believe he asked me to do this," she muttered to herself, continuing her pacing even when Ginny purposefully had pots and ingredients fly through her course.

"It must be all the potions in his system, getting to his head. You may be stuck in this position forever, Hermione. Get used to the pressure," Ginny chimed, a haughty look on her face when Hermione snapped a glare in her direction.

"Look, Hermione, no one is happy about this. We're just trying to deal with the fact that an "ex" deatheater is wandering around our camp with that snide, condescending look on his face as if he's above us all. Merlin, what I wouldn't give to throw him off the cliff," Ginny admitted with a look of sheer bliss on her face. No doubt she was imagining the scenario.

"At least he doesn't have his wand," Hermione grumbled, plopping down on the stool opposite Ginny. Her friend sighed, her own wand whisking the minced vegetables into the stew her mother had ordered her to prepare to "lighten and warm everyone's hearts".

Because a stew would make everything better.

"I still don't get how he just showed my dad all the deatheaters plans for the coming months," Ginny muttered in disbelief, glancing out the opened tent flaps to catch the blonde git strolling past with box after box of supplies piled upon him. He was glowering as he carried the provisions through camp, yet another punishment bestowed upon him by one of the many agitated members.

Hermione bit her lip, following Malfoy's steps. He looked well now, the partial sunlight that managed to tear through the constant gloom basking his sickly skin in a well-needed glow. His hair had gathered luster outside of the tent, and his bruised face was slowly healing. She realized then that she was taking far too much interest in his appearance, and the way he held himself as he carried his load.

She was shocked to find out he had muscles once he'd taken off his suit, substituting it with a more leisurely long sleeved shirt and jeans.

As if feeling her stare, he looked over his shoulder without stopping his gait. They locked eyes, and she felt a frightening shiver run through her.

Hastily, she tore her eyes away and studied her chipping nails, and sanity.

_"I have to tell them," Hermione blurted, eyes wide as she tried to breathe in and out, refusing to feel the impact of the blow Malfoy just aimed at her gut. His pleased look quickly vanished, replaced by one of panic._

_"No! No, you can't. I don't trust them. You still have a leak on your side," Malfoy urged._

_Hermione shook her head._

_"No, we don't. We found out who that was and we got rid of him," she argued. He didn't look very convinced._

_"I've been burning tips for a while now, Granger," he grimly replied, his eyes following her every step, every facial expression like a hawk. She groaned._

_"They'll already know you're on our side, Malfoy. What's the difference if I say you're the informant? Isn't that what you-know-who wants?" Hermione huffed, plopping down on the chair in front of Malfoy._

_He sighed, a ghost of an amused smile on his face. "No, it's not. I never told him that I was giving you insight before, only that I was giving you intel now. He'd doubt my loyalty if my exchanges with you were released. I can't have anyone here letting him know about that, or about my conversation with him. He's in a constant state of paranoia, and I'm stepping on extremely thin ice by doing this," he explained._

_She pursed her lips, eyeing him with complete and utter doubt clouding her judgment. Despite the evidence to prove that he was her spy on the other side, Hermione couldn't dump that biting feeling in the bottom of her gut that warned her to take care._

_But then there was the flash of the boy from her school years, who'd seemed so unwilling to fully betray the light._

_He's no longer a boy, she thought darkly to herself._

_"Why are you doing this? Why not play it safe by just continuing correspondence over there, without revealing yourself?" She interrogated._

_His features warmed slightly, catching her completely off-guard and bringing back images of her regular, torturous dreams: she saw his smile fall over her, a gentle laugh as he knelt down to kiss her, a playful push on her part. She shook herself, rattling the scene out of her mind's eye._

_"I'm selfish. I wanted you to know it was me you'd been confiding in," he replied with a shrug, grinning; his arrogance didn't seem to ever fade._

_"I did not confide in you. I simply thanked you for information that was needed," she bit out, sour._

_He laughed, the sound melodic, annoying to her ears. "Whatever lets you sleep at night."_

But she wasn't sleeping at night, not with Malfoy free about camp after talking to Kingsley and Arthur about him, and the new whereabouts she'd been fed after their little dispute. She hadn't uttered a word about his earlier role as informant, though it left her throat feeling uncharacteristically dry.

He was on trial now, without wand and any shred of dignity as he took on errands the lowest of ranks ordered him to do. She'd already intervened in five outbursts, in four days, between Malfoy and others (mainly Ron) and took the brunt of many disapproving looks.

On top of that, Ron wasn't talking to her but that was understandable. Still, he was being a brat.

"Hermione, don't stress too much about it. You know, he could've called you-know-who here a long time ago if he really wanted to," Ginny acknowledged, trying to comfort the rattled witch.

"Not really. I already put a charm on him to keep that filthy name from passing his lips."

"Oh," Ginny muttered. "Still, he could have taken someone's wand. He's not a scrawny kid, not anymore."

Hermione voted to ignore that last statement.

"What if he's waiting to find out about other resistance locations?" Hermione worried, fidgeting with her hair.

Ginny mulled it over as she stirred the boiling stew as it hovered over the fire. "Well, let's make sure he doesn't. He's at entry level right now, doing the gritty work of laundry and cleaning without magic. I don't think he'll be sitting in on strategy any time soon. Speaking of which, don't you have a meeting to get to?"

Hermione moaned, leaning over the table and into the feel of Ginny's touch as her best friend massaged her head.

"Have I mentioned how glad I am to have you back in the land of the living?" She mumbled against the cutting board.

"Have I mentioned how easily I could send you out of this lovely land? I have many knives," Ginny muttered, a smile in her voice.

"You'll be doing me a favor."


	7. Chapter 7

Books » Harry Potter » **Fragments**

Author: odairrieres

1. Chapter 12. Chapter 23. Chapter 34. Chapter 45. Chapter 56. Chapter 67. Chapter 78. Chapter 89. Chapter 910. Chapter 1011. Chapter 1112. Chapter 1213. Chapter 1314. Chapter 1415. Chapter 15

Rated: M - English - Romance/Drama - Reviews: 19 - Published: 07-03-12 - Updated: 12-08-12

id:8282835

"We should make contact with the other camps as soon as possible to discuss lines of attack, now that we have information that is relevant for them," Viktor suggested as the group continued with the heated conversation over the next coming weeks. People were still bitter over the new recruit, who was intentionally being put on patrol with Neville and Ginny on the far side of camp; just as a guarantee that nothing critical would fall on his ears.

The central tent in the camp, large enough to accommodate a large cluster of people, was swollen with wizards and witches. Many sat on either side of a table blanketed in maps and correspondence between them and the stations further south. Some stood, others slouched with fatigue and others stiff with bottled frustration. All of them displeased with the unraveling situation.

"But we don't even know if the rumors we've heard are true!" Someone called out from the back, followed by a cascade of heated remarks.

"What if this is a trap?" Ron fueled the debate, rigid in his seat at the other end of the table, clearly steering clear of Hermione. She bit down on the inside of her bottom lip, fighting the urge to argue with him just for the sake of it, despite knowing fully well that she agreed wholeheartedly with him.

Despite everything Malfoy was trying to do to gain her trust, she didn't want anyone to move on information he'd given Arthur and her.

"Even if it is a trap, it's not a lie that deatheaters are shifting further south. My people in Moscow are reporting that the watch on the streets has lightened as more of you-know-who's men shift out of Russia. They've been trying to recruit more members in order to expand, and we've all heard about Greece and the attempts on Italy," Viktor stated, the calm in the middle of the storm besides the quiet man seated beside him, still recovering but refusing to be left out of this specific meeting.

Luna tended to Kingsley, keeping out of strategy by focusing mainly on the wounds she was re-bandaging.

"We all knew he was going to try to spread out but I'm not comfortable sending out specific locations that we were supposedly informed are the centers of operations," Hermione chimed in, grimacing down at the coffee-stained, withered map she had in front of her. Faded colors outlined different countries, with a few tacked as targeted by Voldemort's ranks. A few cities were highlighted: the places that Malfoy had fed them.

"They'll be waiting for an attack any day now," Dean remarked, "even if it wasn't a trick. The second in command, who has knowledge of every faction, has gone missing. So, why wouldn't they be lying in anticipation or changing their locations?"

"You think they care or even believe we'd make a dent in their walls? I don't think they'd move a muscle. They underestimate our numbers, they always have, and that's why I feel confident in making strikes against those facilities," Viktor reasoned.

"You may feel confident, Krum, but I don't think I stand alone when I say that I'm not so convinced we have the upper-hand. If we did, this war would be over," Ron retorted, scowling as he hunched forward on the table.

"Always the optimist, right Ron?" Hermione spat, eying him from across the table. His face turned purple under her scrutiny and she could feel his mind reeling, preparing to argue. He was just starting to unload fighting words, his lips parted, when Kingsley held up a silencing hand.

"We cannot be fighting amongst ourselves," came his stern, unyielding command. "There is no need to argue over these matters, because they are settled. Our information comes from a source I am growing to trust. Draco Malfoy has shown his willingness to assist us by revealing plans that we have wanted to get our hands on for months. We know where strikes will fall, and we know roughly when they will occur. If the details he has given on the matters of specific places we should attack are traps, then we will make sure to tread carefully before making any moves. We have eyes and feet in those areas, and I'm certain we can find out any secrets there may be."

"So, we trust a man who was the right hand of the dark lord, in hopes that he's not the same bastard that killed Dumbledore?" Ron bitterly asked, glaring daggers at the table.

"Severus killed Dumbledore, Mister Weasley. It was never Draco Malfoy."

"Yeah, but he might as well have. He led deatheaters into Hogwarts, he became a deatheater himself, and led most of the attacks that killed members of this group," he seethed.

"We don't know that he led those attacks," was the composed counter. "He was never seen."

"They fucking wear masks! I'm sorry but I can't just sit back and allow you all to go completely bonkers!"

"That'll be enough, Ronald." The room had gone quiet as the young Weasley tried to duke it out with who they all hoped would one day become the Minister of Magic. They all knew who would win this round.

Ron grounded his teeth but otherwise kept silent after the warning Kingsley administered.

"Hermione, what do you think should be the course of action?" Kingsley turned his undivided attention to her, making her shrink back into her seat and beg to disappear. She knew he wanted to slowly hand the reigns over to her, for whatever forsaken reason his rattled, mad mind had conjured. This matter, she wanted very much to be decided by him.

All eyes were on her, except for Ron who had grown suspiciously interested in the cracks in the wood.

" Well," she cleared her throat as it threatened to seal shut. It clenched down on Hermione, choking the words that she was trying to will out of herself.

She didn't trust Malfoy with a twig, let alone the lives of those who followed her orders. But, Kingsley was beginning to invest belief in the born-again wizard and if she trusted anyone in this world, it was Kingsley.

But she wasn't sure if she could agree with his judgments anymore. What if Malfoy had done something to him during his time at the Manor?

She tasted the iron tang of blood in her mouth and finally released her lip from between her teeth.

Glancing around the room, she also realized that she'd yet to voice her confused decision.

_Merlin_, she pleaded silently, _give me the strength not to break down_. Breathing in, she brought her thoughts together in what she could only hope was a coherent message.

"We send word to the other divisions about the deatheaters progress through Europe, ask if there have been severe casualties and if more men are needed." Already, people who dealt with intel were moving. Hands were grabbing at papers on the table, charmed to send messages to correspondents in the other countries of interest.

"There are some countries that were mentioned that I do not believe we've heard from in a while, so I want someone to get on trying to make contact again. I don't want to lose anyone, and we need to make sure we haven't already. Viktor, talk to your connections in Moscow about delaying any more movement until we can get responses from everyone else."

With a nod, he was off.

"We need an update on Australia, and ask if Italy has seen an increase of invasions. Dean, can you manage that?" Hermione huffed, getting up from her seat as well, snatching up the maps before anyone could accidentally whisk them away.

"Sure thing."

Slowly, the room began to funnel out as people went to get the messages out. Kingsley, with the help of Luna, rose to leave. He gave Hermione a gentle smile, meant to be comforting no doubt, and left her to her devices. Soon, it was just her and an extremely quiet Ron Weasley, who she blatantly ignored.

"And I," Hermione breathed as she looked down at her crinkled map, "will try to figure out how to strategize attacks on headquarters I'm sure are set up with traps while not completely losing my mind."

"Too late for that," came the gruff, acid reply she didn't exactly want. Hermione clenched her jaw, pausing from arranging the left over papers on the table to glance over at the brooding redhead that was, or had been, her best friend.

"You're one to talk. Are you completely mad, arguing with Kingsley?" He rolled his eyes, shooting up from his seat so that they were on the same level.

Yet, he felt so superior with his lifted chin and scolding eyes. She wanted to smack the freckles off his face.

"Maybe people need to see that he's lost it. Maybe I'm not the mad one here," he spat. Her eyebrows shot up.

"Hah! Oh, please. You're the only one that's been acting like a raving lunatic! All you do is walk around camp with a boulder on your shoulder and an itch to punch something. And now you want to question the chief's sanity?" She was bewildered, and more than her share of angry. She watched him, shaking her head as he scoffed at her.

"Ron, what is going on with you? You won't even talk to me," she continued her assault, though her resilience faltered towards the end. He could see her wound, raw and spreading.

They'd promised to stick together. Now, more than ever.

Ron gawked at her, his right arm waving at the air as if the answer was right there, smack between them.

"You're joking me! What is going on with me? You've gone off the deep end, letting that roach onto our base. Not only did you bring him here so he could write love letters to the dark lord telling him our exact location, but you give him free reign!" His purple face was inflated, veins prickling at his temples, urgent and ready to pop. She knew he'd been holding this all in.

This was why he wouldn't talk to her.

"Merlin, Hermione, what the fuck?" He huffed as he scrutinized her.

She fidgeted, trying to reel in her own pent up frustration. Boy, did she have a lot of it.

Hermione shifted the papers from one arm to the other, and maintained a stony exterior. "Ron, you are out of line. I didn't allow him free reign without first consulting with others. Both of your parents and Kingsley suggested giving Malfoy a trial, and he's under constant supervision. The sad fact is you have become the hazard," she replied curtly.

There was a loud clang as he snapped his mouth shut, his jaw clenching and unclenching with the vigor of a boa constrictor strangling its prey. He was struggling to hold back whatever venom was boiling inside.

"Me? I'm the hazard?" He forced out, his voice rough. She stood her ground, meeting his glassy stare and fighting the urge to look away from the hurt she could see, hidden behind the resentment.

"Yes," she managed to say. "You've become violent and I'm tired of breaking up fights between you an-"

"And Malfoy," he snapped. "He's the problem. Not me. And you, Hermione, you know it. I know you do, so why the hell are you picking his side. Is there something you're not telling me?"

She eyed the exit, behind him, her legs itching to move, to leave. Instead, she shook her head. "No, of course not. I'm just seeing things logically. You instigated the fights and he refused to fight back."

Ron closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring and his feet digging into the ground to keep him there. "Hermione. He didn't fight back to make me look bad, besides he's a fucking coward! He's playing games, as he always does, why can't you see that?" He urged.

"You think I don't? You think I'm swallowing the shit he's feeding us?" She had to remind herself not to yell. "You think I'm so dim that I'd trust him? I don't but I trust Kingsley and so far, Malfoy has done nothing to prove he's not a changed man. I'm waiting for a fuck up, trust me Ron, I'm waiting but so far all I've seen is your fucking hot head get in trouble, making him look like the better man!"

She heaved, her chest and face bubbling and most definitely inflamed by her irritation. She pursed her lips against another outburst and focused in on Ron as it dawned on him. He still didn't look like he was happy with her, far from it, and in fact he looked about ready to yell at her for calling him a hot head.

But, the rustling of the tent flaps had them both jumping in their skin.

"Grang- Oh, well then. Pardon me. I didn't mean to barge in on a lovers' quarrel," the snide voice no one wanted to hear came from the entrance. He was smiling, as always, but as he stood there in the dimming light Malfoy looked bothered, irritated. His eyes were on her, and again that uncomfortable feeling came crawling up her spine: she was raw under his stare, her skin peeling back layer by layer until he saw inside of her and her mind where he laid siege to her thoughts. She felt violated when his attention was on her.

So, naturally, she looked away only to fall on a sight almost as unpleasant as Malfoy.

Ron was twitching, the heat radiating off of him enough to create steam in the cold air. If he squeezed his mouth shut any tighter, she was sure teeth would crumble into dust but it was most definitely better closed than it was open. She could almost see the words spewing out of his eyes, hatred slamming against Malfoy in waves.

But he didn't seem effected at all. He wasn't even paying attention to the redhead.

She could still feel his unbearable stare on her.

"Hermione," Ron's call jerked her into panic mode.

She looked at him, begging with her eyes for him not to trigger any arguments. But, he didn't appear ready to fight. He was exhausted, pissed, but exhausted. It showed in his dragging shoulders and the pull at the edges of his eyes. The battle wasn't over, but it was at intermission.

"I'll discuss this with you later. I have patrol," he muttered before leaving the room. As Ron passed Malfoy, his shoulder immaturely bashed the other's. The blonde's eyes flashed with annoyance before his face settled into amusement.

"You two make a lovely pair," he jeered.

"We are not a couple, you idiot. He's my friend," Hermione snapped before finally finding her feet and making to leave Malfoy to bloat the room with his ego.

Before she could make it past him, though, she felt a firm hand grab her arm. It was tight, secure, and a brief spark of fear rushed through her. Her nerves went on edge, her body snapping to attention as she turned to tear him in two for even daring to touch her.

"Let go-

"_-of me," she howled, wriggling as she tried to pull her arm out of the strong prison it was in. The hand that held it tightened, and another grabbed for her other arm. Urgent, they shook her._

_But, she wasn't afraid. She was angry, blinded by a influx of tears._

"_Granger, stop! Granger- Hermione, listen to me, please!" Draco Malfoy's voice begged, but she wasn't hearing it. She yanked and tugged and, in the process, slammed against multiple surfaces. Things were falling to the ground around her, but it was nothing compared to her own mental state._

"_Leave me alone. You ass hole, get off," she seethed through the crying. She blinked away the wetness in her eyes and slowly her vision cleared to reveal the dark and green drapery of the Slytherin dormitory. Blocking her view of the room was Malfoy, his face unnervingly close to her own as he yanked her into him._

_She could feel his heart pounding in time with her own, the sound strangely soothing to her, hypnotizing even. She was breathing in his heavy scent, his quiet pleas for her to calm down and listen sweetly caressing her ears and mind. She was still writhing against him, her hands trying to find purchase on his chest, hitting at it, but the fight was quickly dying out._

"_I don't want to hurt you," he breathed into her hair, one of his hands releasing her arm to grip her head and pull it down against his shoulder. "I swear, once all of this is over, we can do what we want and not give a damn who knows. Just, not now. We can't."_

"_You're embarrassed," she accused, bitter despite the comfort she sought in his arms. He was holding her, letting her soil his white shirt with her tears and letting the feeble hits continue._

"_Oh, please. Embarrassed? I'm too proud to do anything that's embarrassing. Hell, Hermione, give me some credit."_

"Give me some credit, Granger. I'm not going to hurt you," Malfoy scoffed when she tore her arm out of his grasp, her wand poised to turn him inside out as soon as her mind settled itself back in her skull. She was visibly shaken, unable to take in the new surroundings. Everywhere she looked, she saw the green of his room, the snake embedded on the tent, on her papers, on her hand.

He was completely unaffected.

"Granger?" His voice disturbed her, and she backed away instinctively as he raised a hand to touch her again.

"Don't," she sputtered. He looked wary of her and settled on shrugging off her strange behavior.

"No need to get your knickers in more of a twist than usual. I just wanted to make sure you hadn't said anything," Malfoy said nonchalantly. He shoved his hands into his pockets, habitually frowning when he realized the comfort of his wand was no longer there.

"Of course not," she snapped, irritated and bewildered. He scowled.

"Look, don't take out your Weasley rage on me."

"Oh, it has nothing to do with Ron. I have enough rage towards you, thank you very much," she muttered. He glared at her, a hiss of a breath funneling through his nose.

"Good to know. Whatever your problem is, Granger, you need to get over it and quick. I need to talk to you later and I'd rather I did it without worrying about you chopping my head off," he huffed before leaving her to her haunted thoughts.

* * *

"Mm, what's that?" Viktor breathed against her cheek before planting a kiss on her lips. Hermione smiled, simultaneously closing the book she'd been nose-deep in for the past three hours and giving Viktor a return kiss.

"Nothing, just something I was reading to pass the time," she replied casually, her hand covering the book cover ever so conveniently. It was "Magic and Mind", one of the many books she used when training. Usually, it was used for assisting herself and others on how to shield their minds against Voldemort but now, Hermione had it in hand for more personal reasons.

Stealthily, she shoved the large tome into her purse.

Viktor grinned, amused, and settled down on the makeshift bed beside Hermione. His arms were around her, an automatic response to being near her in private, and he nestled his head into the crook of her shoulder.

"I should have guessed," he admitted with a chuckle. Shifting, she leaned back against him and felt the immediate guilt of her betraying thoughts fall on her forehead. It pressed down until it caused the desired headache.

Hermione groaned. It was a never-ending cycle of misery she sought to end.

"I would ask if something was on your mind but there always is," Viktor mumbled against her shoulder blade, blessing her skin with soft kisses that eased her muscles.

She laughed sullenly. "Unfortunately, you're right. It's nothing really, but it's enough to aggravate me to no end."

"Anything I can help with?"

She closed her eyes and swiftly the darkness was overridden by the image of Malfoy, gripping and holding her against her will. No, not against. She was more than willing.

"No, not really," she sighed.

"Well," he pondered, his hands slinking away from her and earning a groan on her part. "Maybe rounds will help clear your mind."

She hissed, but only to his amusement. "Viktor, tonight isn't my night to do rounds," she grumbled. He was already nudging her out of bed.

"Well, Luna is glued to Kingsley and they need someone else," he replied, a smile in his voice.

"Then you go," she moaned, begrudgingly sliding off of the somewhat comfortable cot she'd been expecting to fall asleep in. But, then again, she never did sleep much these days in fear of what nightmares it would bring.

"They won't let me, since I did an early morning shift," he reasoned. Now she could see him smiling.

"You just want the bed to yourself, you git," she accused, shoving on her shoes. Viktor was biting back his cheeky grin as he bunkered down for the night.

"Fine, I'm going. But I hold a grudge," she warned, pointing a finger at her triumphant boyfriend, before leaving her tent.

And instantly crashing against something hard, warm, and overall extremely uncomfortable.

"Took you long enough to come out. I was just about to barge in on your lovely little chat, Granger," Malfoy ridiculed as she leapt away from him. He was in a noticeably fowl mood, the lines in his face drawn out around a scowl that she was sure had something to do with her.

Her stomach heaved and there was an acidic taste crawling up her throat.

"I wasn't aware I had someone outside, listening in," she replied haughtily. She stood her ground under his scrutiny, his eyes narrowed.

"You should be aware that your partner would be waiting for you, for patrol," he clipped out, letting the words settle onto her bones where it set a chill.

She was going to kill Viktor.

Hermione's lips twisted bitterly as she remained glued to her spot, Malfoy impatiently eyeing her down until she finally gave a huff of defeat.

"I don't know why they would put you on patrol. You don't even have a wand," she muttered scornfully, already moving away from him and her tent in an attempt to get away from him. Obviously, that wasn't going to happen but a girl could dream.

"Actually, Granger, some people trust me enough not to stab myself with the thing and allowed me to carry it again," Malfoy replied, as snide and boastful as ever. She halted mid-trampling and glanced over her shoulder to see the blonde bigot wave his, what was thought to be relinquished, wand.

"Kingsley," she practically hissed.

He smiled brazenly and nodded. "Kingsley."

She was steering herself towards the traitor's tent, but a hand flew out to grab her. Quick on her feet, she dodged the trap and her wand was pressed against Malfoy's chest. Thankfully, no one was around at that time of night to spot their encounter.

"Hands off," she ordered. He rolled his eyes, obviously not taking her as serious as he should.

"Really, Granger? What do you think I'd do?" He sighed though he backed away from Hermione just to ease the tension that was swiftly mounting. "On your side, remember?"

A brief interlude in her thoughts and she was seeing him again, in the dark, but the setting reminded her of the astronomy tower. He'd said the same thing there, too, but under different circumstances.

What were those circumstances?

Her mind felt groggy and she blinked, trying to focus, and realized her mouth had fallen open. Hastily, she shut it and clenched her jaw.

Oh, she remembered, but she wasn't sure what on earth those memories were.

"I don't know what you're up to, Malfoy, but just keep your hands to yourself," she mumbled as she turned again, away from Kingsley. She would have that lovely conversation at another time.

"No need to tell me that again," he replied dryly, following her lead as they left the campsite behind to monitor the surroundings. At night, there was barely any light except for the lanterns on the grounds and once they were outside of the protective barrier they maintained around the perimeter, it was almost completely pitch black.

The sky was hazy, a mixture of fog and yellow-black tinged clouds muddling the night into what some liked to call "shit". It wasn't very creative, but it pretty much summed up what Voldemort had succeeded in doing.

She folded her arms across her chest as the sea breeze picked up, and her eyes racked over the far off valley that held the village of the island. It was dim, bleak, with many of its residents hidden indoors and away from the encroaching feelings of dread that came with this constant storm. When she'd gone into town to seek food and supplies with a few others in disguise, there had been murmurs of leaving the island by some, of staying there by others.

The deatheaters had yet to infringe upon this small place, probably thinking it barren, but it wouldn't stay that way for long. Once they'd managed to take over the main target countries, Hermione was sure they'd cover all their missed ground. It was a matter of time before this sanctuary was torn away.

"We need to leave soon," Malfoy's voice probed into her thoughts. She grimaced. She had been thinking the same thing, but damn it she wouldn't let him know that.

"Why?" Was her brilliant reply.

She could feel his eyes on her but she kept her focus forward, pretending to be keenly interested in the sway of the grass.

"You know why. We need to stay on the move, especially now. You have a spy and he or she may have sent your location out."

"But they haven't done that yet, so why start now?" When he groaned, she looked over to him and scoffed at his look of disbelief. "What?"

"I've been destroying their tips for ages. Now that I'm not there, who knows what's getting through," he explained.

"Right. I hadn't been really paying attention then, since I thought you were lying," she muttered with a shrug.

"And now?"

"Now what?" There was a bird now, flying solo. It was blocked off when Malfoy stepped in front of her, refusing her the one pleasure she had: ignoring him, no matter how awfully she was doing it.

"Do you still think I'm lying?" He asked, searching her face for any emotion besides her well-practiced apathy. She looked anywhere but at him, though it didn't do anything to ease her discomfort.

So, she shrugged. From the look of boiling frustration on his face, Hermione figured it was the right move.

The shrug set him off, and she could see his face glowing in the dark as he reached out again, only to retract his hands. He balled them into fists at his sides before shoving them into his pockets and letting out an agitated sigh. All the while, she had her wand clenched tight in her hand, her nerves on end in anticipation for his touch.

That anticipation was, of course, out of fear.

"Why? Why can't you just have a little faith in me?" He seethed, his hands shooting out of his pockets to rub his temples. "You, you of all people should trust me."

"You seem a little too eager to gain my trust, a little too determined to win me and everyone else over. And you, you," she faltered, her cheeks burning as she tried to keep her calm. "You are trying to mess with my head. And I won't have it."

She was stiff, fixed in her determination not to believe a word he said, and he could feel it. He shook his head, turning his eyes onto the dirt to his left where they tore into it as she knew he wanted to tear into her.

But it wouldn't shake her resolve. When he finally looked back at her, she had her lips pressed into a fine line. A line he wouldn't cross.

"So it's that hard to believe that I may just want forgiveness? That I want to make up for the things I've done, that I want to help end this?" He was near hysterics, laughing bitterly as she shook her head in response.

"I know you. I know you can't cha-"

He snarled, and within a few seconds his storming feet brought him within inches of her face. His eyes were alight, passionate as he bore down on her.

"You. Don't. Know. Me. At all," he pounded into her head. "Don't claim to know everything, because it's obvious you know nothing. The quicker you figure that out, the quicker you can actually start to lead." The words seared into her skin, his breath fierce and triggering every molecule in her body into action.

She glared at him, fuming and her eyes wet with angered tears she refused to let out. "How dare you."

"I'm just telling the truth, sweetheart. Unfortunately, you never believe me but I don't give a flying fuck. Wake. Up. Accept the help I'm trying to give before this whole ship sinks," he ranted, all the while never backing down from her.

Her space was invaded and in the small distance between them came that peculiar eager electricity that tugged at her. She felt a jolt of fear spread through her, prickling her flesh and leaving her breath ragged. He was taking note of her reaction to his nearness, her heaving chest drawing his eyes attention away from her own for a moment.

She realized how close his lips were, just as they had been that night she'd looked inside his mind. Merlin, she regretted doing that. And this.

"Malfoy," she mustered to say. His eyes flickered back to hers, a hungry haze clouding them.

"Yes?" He breathed, his scent causing her head to spin. She felt about ready to topple over and, if it got her away from him, she wouldn't have minded falling.

"Get away from me."

Malfoy lingered, the tips of his lips twitching as if to smile before he slowly, torturously backed away from Hermione.

After that night, she never patrolled with Malfoy again.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hey, can I talk to you?" Came a huff as an invigorated Ron Weasley plopped down across from Hermione and Viktor. They sat side by side at one of the rows of filled picnic tables inside the makeshift cafeteria, munching on bread and trying not to cringe at the idea of another cabbage and fish stew. The tent's sheet flapped loudly as a storm rushed overhead, dulling the sound of conversation and keeping everyone indoors for the moment as they heated up with the food Molly and Ginny made.

Despite how monotonous it was at this point.

Hermione looked up from the correspondence Viktor and a few others had handed her earlier that morning, startled by her friend's arrival. So, they were back on talking terms? It seemed too good to be true, and it probably was.

"Don't look at me like that," he grumbled when the redhead noticed Hermione's critical eye. She pursed her lips, glancing from the news she was decoding, to Viktor. He was conveniently peering into his bowl of stew, stirring about the dreary colored ingredients. With a sigh, she turned back to Ron.

"Sure, what's up?" He immediately looked uncomfortable.

"Can we talk, um, alone?" He eyed Viktor pointedly and then turned his scrutiny to the others that were flooding inside for food.

Hermione frowned, nibbling on the inside of her lip until it was raw and screaming. "I'm not going out in the rain, Ron," was her well-constructed argument. It didn't take him long to tear it apart.

His face shriveled up like a raisin. "'Mione, you're heading out in a few minutes to the village, aren't you?"

When she heard the choked laugh of the man next to her, she promptly stepped on his foot. Viktor's complaint about the attack vanished after a swift glance at Hermione's red face.

"Look, Ron, if you have something to say to me, you can say it here," she grumbled as she focused back on the main predicament in her life. Well, besides a blonde that was gratefully out of sight.

Ron was grinning at her little rustle with Viktor, but it quickly dissipated when her eyes fell on him. He looked stiff, fighting against the normal ease that came with being around her. His face grew distant, constructed for business. But he was a bad actor. She could tell Ron was tired of keeping up the pretenses of being angry with her, but he didn't look ready to give it up entirely.

It was extremely annoying.

"No, not really," he mumbled, fidgeting in his seat. He kept looking over at the entrance, as if waiting for something unpleasant to come bursting in.

Hermione grimaced, knowing that feeling. And it clicked, right then, as to why Ron wasn't comfortable talking here.

She groaned. "Damn it, Ron, I was in the middle of something," she gave in gruffly as she wiggled out from the bench. "Viktor, send word to Greece that the supplies will be coming in soon. I want details on the movements there as well." She shuffled the papers, sliding them over before leaving the tent with Ron leading the way through the rain.

They hopped into the infirmary tent, empty now with Kingsley situated in his own space. She was barely ringing her hair when Ron started in on her with the unwanted topic.

"What do we do about Malfoy?"

Hermione groaned, peeking through the crack in the flaps for any wandering bodies. "Ron, for Merlin's sake, could you just drop it?"

"No, Hermione, I can't. You and I both know that he's up to something," he countered, his gaze piercing through her as she shifted uneasily in place.

She stood there idly, the hurdles of water calming down into a pitter-patter outside as she kept him hanging. She bit her lip again, and Hermione was certain the damn thing would start bleeding soon enough.

"I'm going to deal with him," she sighed, her head already throbbing.

"How?" He wasn't going to drop it.

She considered her answer for a moment before taking out her wand and putting a silencing charm on their surroundings. Ron's eyes immediately ignited with excitement.

"Hermione, what're you planning?" He asked eagerly, watching her carefully as she eased herself down on a cot. She was fiddling with her fingers, fiddling with her thoughts.

When she looked up at Ron, the uncertainty of her plans lingered between them.

"I do as I originally planned. Wipe his memory clean and leave him here for retrieval after the war is over," she stated simply. There was a mixed response as Ron digested her words, his face a concoction of agitation and mild acceptance.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"What about Kingsley?" He asked warily, sitting on the cot across from her. He rubbed his hands together, ringing them as his mind whirled about.

Hermione shrugged. "I'm in charge. Besides, he's just a threat. Bellatrix and who knows who else will be looking for him, and that'll lead the wrong people to us. I'm sure Kingsley will understand. We'll give Malfoy a proper trial once this is all done, and no foul is played."

Ron was nodding slowly, and relief washed over Hermione as she realized her friend was gradually coming back to his senses, to her.

"Okay, that works, I guess. When do we leave?"

"Uh," Hermione said eloquently. She swung her legs out and looked at her worn out sneakers as if they'd suddenly turned into designer pumps.

"'Mione."

"I'm still working on that," she replied lightly, ready for the groan that Ron let out. She lifted her head, eyeing him. "Hey, you do this job then if you think you're so great."

He was quick to go on the defense, his hands in the air. "No, no. You're doing swell. Just wish it was all going a bit faster. We all do."

She ran a frustrated hand through her mane, her hair bursting at the seams from the usual bun she put it in. "And I don't? I'm just working through strategy, so it's slow going," Hermione confessed.

"What strategy? Did I miss a meeting?"

"No, no. It's something I've been working on independently," was the sheepish reply.

"Go on," he coaxed, eyebrows raised.

She glanced outside again, the rain having stopped altogether. A good excuse to leave, she thought, to go on her errands.

"Oh, come on. Since when do you keep things from me?" He pleaded. When she turned back to him, his formal pretenses were gone and her Ronald was there, haggard smile and all. He was twisted slightly with disappointment and exhaustion, but there he was.

She gave a gentle smile back, her gaze wistful. "Since you stopped coming to me to find out these things," she admitted. His smile faltered. "But, nevermind that. It's not that I'm keeping it from you, well, okay I am but not because I don't want you to know. Well, I am but it's because you'd be angry with me. I think," she stammered.

"What if I promise I won't be?" He tried cautiously, throwing in a stronger smile.

Her face screwed up, the nostalgia that came with being around him skewing her decision to keep this hidden from him for as long as possible.

"I was considering doing a raid on the targets we were given," she vomited out, already flinching as she saw Ron take it in.

His face was swiftly turning all sorts of colors of the rainbow. But, he managed to keep somewhat calm.

"You mean, the places Malfoy gave us?" He clarified, for his own rage's need.

She gave a curt nod.

"You mean, the places you thought he set up as traps?"

"That's why I'm still constructing plans," she argued. He breathed in slowly, giving a stiff nod.

"Uh-huh. Okay." He got up, and she automatically sprung up from her own seat. He raised a finger in her direction as his gaze turned downwards, probably searing a hole through the ground. When he looked up, however, Ron was as composed as his tomato red face would allow him to be.

"I'm," he started, only to stop to take a reassuring breath in, "I'm going to trust you on this. And, um, yeah. That's all," he finished distantly, his feet ghosting across the dirt floor as he left the tent.

Hermione scratched her head, sucking on her bottom lip.

"Well, that went better than I anticipated," she admitted, her mood muddled as she left the infirmary and made a beeline for her quarters after she was sure the coast was clear of the Weasley.

And, as if on command, the apparition from hell materialized in front of her.

"Granger! Just the witch I was looking for," Malfoy chimed from his post beside her tent. She shoved down the stew that was creeping up her throat.

"Oh, Malfoy, to what pleasure do I owe this visit?" She grumbled, moving past him and into her safe zone. Unfortunately, he was unaware of this and was quick to leap right into her room.

"Well, you do keep everything as fine pressed and tidy as I thought you would," he remarked with a cocky grin as he glanced over her belongings. Everything was, actually, impeccably clean with nothing private for unwanted eyes to see. Especially Malfoy's eyes.

She rolled her eyes in agitation as she went about the space, picking up her supply bag and notes from Molly on what to bring back from the village. "What is it that you want, Malfoy? Quick, before I get old."

"See, I was beginning to think you already looked far too old for your age. Must be that prudish nature of yours," he replied smoothly, his dig hitting home right between her temples. The headache was coming back with a vengeance.

"Malfoy, I'm not in the mood for your banter," she sighed, turning to leave but he was quick on his feet, blocking her one and only exit. She looked longingly at the mud and bleak scenery that was just out of her reach.

"But I like my banter. Maybe our stroll among the muggles will warm you up to my wit," he stated and his grin widened wickedly when Hermione's horrified expression settled into the lines of her face.

"Why?" She breathed, though she was sure she already knew the answer. It was bubbling in her stomach, bringing back the bitter taste of cabbage, fish, and dread.

His proud chin rose high and he looked down at her from his snooty position. "Kingsley wants me to accompany you."

"And you two have become chums?" She ridiculed dryly. His grin was too big, his lips spread flat against his teeth and cheeks with joy.

"Quite. And he would love for us two to become partners in crime, so to speak. So, if you don't or do mind, I'm to be your escort."

Hermione scowled, her hands idiotically reaching out and shoving against his firm chest to get him out of the way with no positive result. An instant shock sprang through her fingertips and sprawled through her, sending waves of confusion through her nervous system.

She couldn't get her hands off him fast enough.

"Move. I can handle myself. If he thinks I need an escort, he shouldn't have left me in charge," she muttered bitterly. Her eyes were downcast, glaring heated holes into the stake holding the tent to the ground.

He chuckled, shaking his head at her. "He doesn't, but I do."

"Wow, how enlightening. Let me through," she grumbled.

"No need to be sour," he replied, amused as he shifted to the side to let her storm past. He was matching her quick pace with ease, his long legs guiding him forward while she stalked at his side in an attempt to scurry away. She came to realize very quickly that he could easily catch up to her if she ran. Besides, she was positive he knew where the village was if he needed to find her.

So, with a rugged sigh, Hermione slowed her stride and focused on her errand.

There was no actual path from the cliff-side campsite to the central valley of the island, nor was there a makeshift one created by the constant flow of people going there for supplies over the past weeks. Instead, as their feet left each crushed plant, imprinting their mark on the ground, the grass wiggled and sprung back to life. The mud lifted, evened itself to it's previous state, as Hermione's wand swept over it. It was vital to erase all tracks.

Her shoes sloshed through the wetness, taking the brunt of the rain's aftermath along with the seams of her pants. Yet, despite the dampness that soaked through her socks, the plants, and the ground, the air was abnormally dry and still. It hovered over them, without a single breeze to break the frozen atmosphere, or through the tension that coiled between the two as they walked down the uneven trail.

Despite his earlier claims, Malfoy's mouth had been sealed shut since they left camp. With his hands shoved in his jean pockets, he didn't look ready to make conversation. His eyes bore into the ground before him with a look of sheer concentration, focusing solely on each foot's forward step. From the corner of her eye, she saw him frown at his shoes before catching her gaze like a hawk.

Immediately, his dampened expression lightened into his usual sneer. "I knew you secretly found me attractive," he heckled. "Look on, Granger, don't be shy," he added, a smile in his voice, when Hermione's stance turned severe and she whipped her eyes back onto the small village that was taking form just below the hill they were on.

She couldn't get down to the village to save her life.

"Oh, come on," he laughed. "No need to get your knickers in a twist over being caught. I don't mind as much as I should."

Hermione scowled as she barreled down the hill. "Please. I was hoping you'd disappeared, but instead I saw you pouting at the ground like a baby," she replied heatedly.

The village was close enough for her to touch. The sounds of the small fish and produce market luring her in with promises of getting away from Malfoy. Clusters of porcelain skinned, overwhelmingly blonde natives moved through the carts and displays, through the small streets, and into the small, cozy homes that she yearned to sneak into if only to hide from her tormenter.

"Truly insulted, Granger. Dreadfully so," he drawled as she finally reached her haven. Without another word, she was off and immersed in the venders. A small charmed notepad helped to break the language barrier as she conversed with the locals to find the foods she needed, the words translating themselves on the paper she kept covertly under her sleeve.

She tried to ignore the heavy weight of eyes on her as her shadow followed a few steps behind, making sure he avoided contact with any muggles as he went along. He was fighting back a scowl as children ran past him, a few bumping into him as they went on. It wasn't helping that venders were reaching over with their products, coaxing him to buy their vegetables, their fruit, some bowls, all the while speaking in a foreign tongue.

Malfoy was completely outside of his comfort zone, and Hermione decided she enjoyed the sight of him struggling to maintain his composure. Her lips twitched up into an amused smile as she wandered about the barrels of fruit, picking from a gentle woman whose smile was filled with gaps in her teeth but also with warmth Hermione hadn't seen or felt in a while.

"for mannen din," the woman's voice quivered as she pressed an apple into Hermione's hand. She nodded kindly in response, a polite smile in place as her eye slid down to her paper.

_For your husband_, it read.

Her smile plummeted.

"No, no, no mannen," Hermione stammered, her hand wiggling out from under the lady's surprisingly firm grip. The woman wasn't having it, laughing lightly and determinately folding Hermione's hand around the free fruit while giving her other open hand the bag of her other buys.

"Having trouble with the locals, mm?" Malfoy commented as he slid into view, leaning against the old lady's stand while watching Hermione finally give up and lamely take the apple. It lay in her hand, awkward and useless to her. If not for the association to the blonde next to her, she would have taken it happily.

Unfortunately, it was poisoned now.

Snuffing out a frown, Hermione turned away from the beaming old woman in search of potatoes and cabbage. She really hoped she didn't find any cabbage.

As she walked, she noticed the weight in her left hand lifted. Malfoy snatched the apple, examined it briefly, and then took a bite out of it. All of it was to Hermione's dismay.

"That wasn't for you," she snapped, stopping in the middle of the walkway to gawk at him. He didn't look at all ashamed as he took another bite, shrugging as she continued to criticize him.

They watched each other in a standoff as he chewed. Swallowing, he gave a laugh. "You weren't eating it any time soon, Granger, and I was hungry. No one is going to miss a single apple."

"You didn't ask first," she huffed.

He grinned cheekily. "Are we first years? I didn't know as an adult I had to ask for permission for anything, let alone to eat an apple."

"When it's my money, yes you do."

"Oh, so you fund everything?" He challenged, his smile never faltering.

Her cheeks burned. "No, not exactly but-"

"So, it's not your money."

"No," she grated out. "Not all of it is my money."

"So I don't need to ask permission," was his cheerful conclusion as he went to take another bite. Her hand whipped out, grabbing his wrist and tugging.

"That was my apple."

"Really, Granger, do you want to argue over an apple." His arm wasn't budging an inch and he looked far too amused.

"Give me back my apple." She was being ridiculous.

"It's not yours."

"Yes, it is," she argued heatedly.

"That's not what the old lady was saying, darling."

As if stung, her hand snapped off his wrist. "You're an ass," she muttered sharply as she steamed forward to the nearest vender.

"You married me," he called from behind. She was seething as she grabbed at the closest potatoes and cabbages, wanting to get back to the camp as soon as possible.

It just wouldn't be quick enough, she concluded as she picked up the sound of him walking towards her.

"Done yet?" He asked, still gloating. She clenched her jaw, swiveling on her heels to face him.

"No, I'm not. But you are more than welcome to leave," she said, her voice doused in mock sweetness.

Her annoyance grew when she realized Malfoy wasn't even paying her any mind, his eyes just off to the side of her. His face was frozen in the outlines of a smile, but his eyes were turning cold. Her own face dropped.

"What is it?" She asked. He narrowed his eyes, and she craned her head, turning it to see what was behind her that was so intriguing. Her sharp eyes roamed over the small market, seeing only muggles going about their daily business.

A blotch of black flickered in the corner of her eye and like that, Malfoy's arms were wrapped around her shoulders, pushing her to the ground.

"Down, Granger!" He commanded as a flash of green shot through the air. Without another thought against him, she was ducking behind the wooden crates, his body covering hers as a rain of lights flooded the air above them. There was the shattering sound of hysterical cries as feet trampled over the sloppy, slippery ground to get away from the sudden attack. Hermione flinched as she heard the thud of a body hitting the ground, her gut wrenching at the thought of people being endangered because of them.

There was no doubt the deatheater, or deatheaters, were there for her and Malfoy. They wouldn't bother terrorizing this small island otherwise.

Hermione reached for her wand, gripping it tightly in preparation. "On my cue," she rushed out. Malfoy's grunt was all she needed as confirmation. For a moment, they both squatted there, waiting for a break in the siege of curses.

"Now," she called out and they both shot up from their spots, aiming at the general area that the attacks were coming from. A nasty spell hit a pile of plums beside Hermione, expelling torn bits and lush juice everywhere. There was sheer chaos, people hiding behind barrels, stalls, anything that would keep them out of rage's path. Some tried to run, only to be shot at. Screams were in no short supply as black masses swirled across the sky.

"How many?" Hermione asked over the roar of destruction. They stood back-to-back, wands poised to retaliate if anything came at them. Both were breathing heavily, and she could feel his heartbeat pounding.

"More than one, but I'm not sure," was his agitated, but prompt reply. His eyes were slashing through the market, discarding the muggles that were cowering beneath them. Her attention flickered towards the hill past which laid the camp. It was far enough that the sound of the assault would be muddled, but anyone on patrol would have noticed something was off. It was just a matter of how long it would take for someone to actually alert the others.

The deatheaters had vanished for the moment, leaving a daunting hush behind them with scattered whimpers from around. But the both knew better than to relax. Their focus stayed sharp as she scanned for any signs of their attackers.

"Stay down!" Hermione yelled out when some people started to get up. She was getting jittery herself, shifting her weight as she clenched her clammy palm tighter around her wand.

It was then that the rows of vender carts began to explode under a wave of black.

"Fuck," Malfoy howled as they both shielded themselves against the flying shards and embers as they rained down. The shrieks continued with a vengeance and the madness the deatheaters meant to ensue left Hermione and Malfoy stumbling as people rushed past them.

"We need to leave," he yelled, grabbing at her arm and pulling in the opposite direction of the group.

"What? We need to stop them!" Hermione cried out, watching in horror as people clambered over others. Malfoy was still yanking her through the crowd without any care for what she was saying. She dug her feet into the ground, forcing him to stop.

"You're kidding," he groaned, flicking off a bolt of red that came throttling towards him. "Granger, we need to leave before more of them show up and find out where the site is."

"And leave these people to die?"

"More will die if we don't get out!" He shouted, already starting to yank her forward. With a zap from her wand, she was released from his grasp. He pulled back his hand, a look of outrage on his face as he took in the burn she'd given him. She didn't stay around for him to scream at her.

Instantly, she was targeted and the wispy figure of the deatheater materialized. Unmasked, Blaise Zabini confronted her. His wand was raised, his face severe and ready to take her down. She clenched her teeth as a curse flew towards her, slashing through the air with her wand to deflect it. Her reflexes on survival mode, she shot forth with her counter-attack. It hit its mark, square on his chest and throttled him backwards into a tower of crates that came barreling down over his stunned body.

She whipped around, waiting to get attacked from behind but instead he witnessed Malfoy fighting against a shadow as it flew around him until it finally settled in front of him. His face was flushed but he looked prepared to fight for an eternity against what was most likely a colleague only weeks ago. Hermione was momentarily stunned, her resolve teetering.

A rustle beside her shook her back into focus, her wand swiftly moving towards the area of the sound only to lower when her eyes fell on the old lady from before. She was flinching, futilely trying to move a beam off of her leg. Instinctively, Hermione was leaping over the rubble towards the woman, her wand making easy work out of the beam. It rolled off of the woman and Hermione bent over, giving a reassuring smile to ease the woman's mind, and grabbed her outreached hands to help her off the ground.

"Granger, look out!" Came a desperate scream from somewhere to her left. Malfoy? She turned, her wand ready to defend herself against another deatheater, but a creak from above reminded her that dark wizards weren't the only hazards here.

The reminder came too late.

She heard a booming crack, and with a sharp pain everything went black.

A/N: Woah, so it took me way too long to post a note. I keep forgetting I can do that when I post a chapter~ ANYWHO, thanks for the reviews so far! I always love input, and I'd enjoy seeing what you guys think (good or bad) so I know this story has a pulse. Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out (and for it's overall slowness), I was on vacation for a week, but I should be updating with another chapter soon. Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

"Granger!" A strangled cry, a weakness that tore his attention away from his opponent.

A foot shot out in front of him, a steel wire pulling him forward as the beam collapsed atop Granger's form. It wiped her from sight, leaving only the flailing old woman as her weak hands tried to pull at the wood that left phantom splinters in Draco's chest. But he didn't manage to move any farther than an inch before a wall, of what had been the roof of a stand, came barreling down and restricted his view.

Draco's frame shuddered and his shoulders snapped, his teeth screaming under the pressure of his tightly clenched jaws as his entire body went rigid. The wand in his hand, the one he was supposed to be aiming and shooting with, now lay limp as he glared at the blockade before him.

"Theo," a cold acknowledgement.

A subtle shift in the air, a rustle as wisps of smoke gathered together, and then Draco could feel the other deatheater only a few feet behind him. He could almost hear the ridicule as Theodore Nott observed him, resisted the urge to turn around and kill him, and then forced himself to face the impediment.

When their eyes met, a silent rage swept over the battleground. Theo stood, brown hair sleeked back and his black robes cascading around him as his form materialized, with his head high and a tinge of amusement in the lift of his brows, the spark in his eyes. His lips, a thin whip prepared to lash as soon as he spoke. And it was only a matter of time.

"I see you've already had your attention," Theo's clipped voice came to a stop as his eyes flickered over in the direction of the old woman, who's frantic, foreign cries warned them both that Hermione Granger was not yet conscious. Malfoy's nostrils flared, his knuckles tearing at his pale flesh. Theo's lips curled. "I see it's been diverted."

Draco despised him, despised his ability to detect, to critique, to challenge the Malfoy's claim to authority.

"Why are you here?" Draco hissed, gray eyes turning icy as Theo appeared to contemplate his answer, his head slanting heavenward.

"To remind you why _you_are here," was his sleek reply, a fiery spark jolting Malfoy's rage. "Do mind yourself, and don't take too long. Some of us aren't particularly patient and, without you there to keep mouths locked, there have been words against your leadership."

The cries in the background were demanding recognition. Malfoy's jaws clamored together, the healthy veins upon his temples bulging.

"Consider me informed," he replied callously.

The brevity of the meeting was still eating up his time, and Theo appeared to linger. He was watching Draco with a tinge of curiosity, of disappointment, and then he whistled to his companion as a cue to leave.

Instantly, Blaise Zabini appeared beside Theo and the two, after another heavy, silent exchange with Malfoy, dissipated as if they'd been a figment of Malfoy's imagination.

A nightmare, brought into the daylight.

And it was still haunting him. His body was rooted, everything binding him, strangling him in that meaningless spot and place. His mind was eons away. It was only when the ground began to shake under the incoming, stampeding Order members that he broke the bond, his head shooting towards the wall of beams in front of him, remembering himself and his task. He incinerated it, rushing past and to the old woman. Her body was hovering over the chunk of weight that was keeping them both from seeing where Granger was, what with all the rubble of broken crates and barrels surrounding the area. He didn't regard the woman at all, his attention intent on getting to Granger.

Without hesitation, he levitated the beam, and once it was a safe distance away from them, he let it collapse to the floor with a clamor.

A body was revealed, lying as if asleep if not for the dark stain of red that slowly carved Granger's existence into the cracks on the ground below her. Her face was bleak against the cobblestone, eyes closed. Unconscious.

"Fuck, Granger. You can't be left alone for five seconds," he groaned, calloused fingertips brushing away at the waves of brown that partially covered her face. Underneath the hair seeped warm blood, a gash somewhere on her forehead from hitting the floor. After promptly sealing the wound, Draco tenderly examined the back of her head and almost rejoiced when he saw her flinch as his hand made contact with a soft spot.

"Draco, stop," she croaked, the reaction immediate as he withdrew from her curls, his eyes flashing to hers. They were closed, and she was gone again with shallow breaths the only detection of life. He doubted she would remember even saying anything if, when she woke up and yet it made his stomach turn uneasily how familiar his name sounded on her lips. It was soft, borderline sweet, and it left his throat tight. It confused him, his mind pounding against something, fighting against something that was on the cusp of revealing itself to him, like a memory. But instead, he was left with the vivid, current sight of Granger in his arms, unconscious and needing medical intervention he could not supply. He should have been getting up, taking her to camp, but he was paralyzed.

He tried to swallow, only to choke on a response he was holding back; a name that easily rolled off the tongue, even though it had no right to.

A silence hovered over the area, the old lady slowly moving away after realizing the young stranger was in good hands. With only the foreigner there in the rubble, Draco felt eerily alone with Granger for what felt like the first time even though they'd walked here together. It was the first time he hadn't needed to prepare himself for battle. Well, against her that is.

She was docile. Unconsciousness, if not for the danger behind it, suited her nicely. A faint ghost of a smile crept onto his face.

"I'll just let that one slide… Hermione," he murmured, fearful to even hear it himself. But, of course, he did and the sound of her was exquisite.

As if approaching a slumbering lion, his withdrawn hand reverted back to her, brushing against her worn face. There were small grooves from scars, a grain to her texture that reminded him she wasn't so fragile. She was a soldier, not a damsel. And yet he was able to see her in a way that was her most vulnerable, the argumentative curve of her brow gone and the purse of her lips relaxed to welcome him closer.

A tug within his ribs lured him forward, and he reassured himself it was to make sure she was still breathing even if the discreet rise of her chest was enough proof. His own breath washed over her, fluttering the tendrils of hair that remained resistant to his attempts to move them away from her face. Her cheeks, white, seemed to darken at the warmth of him. She smelled of ambrosia, of sunshine. He missed sunshine, and the promise it gave to the day. He felt as if he missed her, even though this had neither rhyme nor reason to it.

He waited for acknowledgement, another call to him, for his name to close the small distance, to satisfy his craving to come home even if it made no sense for him to want to. He waited, hoping in half to hear his name, hoping also not to.

"Malfoy!"

Draco recoiled from Hermione, his eyes landing on a group of rebels as they flooded into what remained of the village square. A particular redhead was barreling towards him, his cheeks flaring when his sharp gaze landed on the comatose body in Draco's arms.

Ronald Weasley replied in the most natural way, of course.

"What the hell did you do to her?" He howled, Krum's and Bill's arms shooting forth to hold the hothead back as he tried to get at Malfoy once he was close enough. Gritting his teeth, Malfoy adjusted Hermione's body, lifting it as he stood up so as to carry her back to camp now that the others were there.

"So quick to accuse the innocent," came Malfoy's sly response, getting far too much enjoyment out of the Weasel's reaction as the man before him puffed up with fury.

"Get your filthy hands off her, you little shit," he growled in return. Malfoy chuckled, shaking his head in ridicule.

"Oh, and would you rather she walked? Hear that, Granger, your friend thinks you're capable of walking. What's that? Oh, right. She would like to inform you that she isn't particularly able to do that at the moment," Malfoy sneered, already walking away from the confrontation before he endangered Hermione any farther. He had no doubt in his mind that Weasley would take a swing either way now.

The others were with their wands rigidly pointed in all directions, waiting for a surprise attack he knew would not occur. He told them as much.

"What happened?" Viktor Krum asked, walking up beside Malfoy as they started to head back once they realized the only one who was alive and needed treating now was Hermione. All the villagers had vanished, or were lying dead under the destruction.

"Two deatheaters showed up and attacked, aiming for us but deciding to take a few villagers out as well," was the curt answer.

"Who?"

"Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott."

"Second and third in command?" As if Malfoy was supposed to know what was going on now even though he was here. He shot Krum a loaded glance.

"Last I knew, yes. Now, I would suppose Nott is in charge or Lestrange. I wouldn't know anymore."

Krum's gaze darkened slightly at the attitude he was facing, his attention suddenly captivated by Granger's form in Draco's arms.

"Here, I'll take her." He was already with arms stretched out to grab her away. Malfoy's arms coiled tighter around her form.

"I can handle the load."

"So can I," was Krum's gruff reply. He was cutting off Malfoy's path, standing in front of him. His eyes fierce as he challenged Malfoy to argue his right to her.

"If," Malfoy clipped out, "you insist." Stiffly, he adjusted Hermione in his arms and allowed for Krum to take her from him, all the while suppressing the irrational rage that urged him to tear Krum's victorious face off. Instead, he waited for Viktor Krum to disappear into camp before starting his lone walk back.

* * *

It was a while after the gray clouds had turned black with night, and Luna Lovegood had finally retired from Hermione's tent, and Krum had been assigned to walk the perimeter to keep him from hovering as he did the entire day, and the meeting discussing leaving this place had adjourned, that Malfoy finally dared to approach the slumbering witch.

He'd heard small tidbits of talk surrounding her condition from others as they rushed through camp with supplies, trying to get everything ready to leave once Hermione was able to apparate. She was "going to be fine", just "hit her head a bit", had a "small concussion". It was nothing to worry about. But he was unreasonably concerned, and there was an ache to see for his own eyes the condition she was in.

Especially with everything that had unraveled thus far.

It was with unease that he walked up to the tent and peered inside, gray eyes gracing over her tidy living space and falling on the deep-set bags of purple just beneath gently fluttering eyelashes.

She was dreaming. Briefly, he wondered what of.

He almost laughed when his own face came to mind, instead he settled on a frown. Because, if she was dreaming of him, it would be all wrong. He'd seen into her mind once, seen the strangeness that hid behind her anger, a scene she didn't even know she held inside. It was poison.

And that poison was seeping into his own veins.

Uncertainty still guiding his every move, Malfoy drew into the tent in utter silence. Within seconds, he was gazing down at her, but his eyes weren't seeing her face, slowly gaining back its color, or the steady rise and fall of her chest under the blankets. His eyes were clouded over, remembering.

_He was sitting at his study, his head weighing down on his hand. His wrist sent jolts every now and again to remind Draco that it wasn't meant to hold the burden of his mind for him, and not for this long. He'd been there for hours after discussing his plans with the Dark Lord, trying to wrap his mind around the mission he was set out on of his own accord. He had fucked himself over, and he knew it, but it had been the only way to cover for his other fuck up._

_Beads of sweat were sticking to his temples, a few escaping and sliding down his clammy skin. His eyes were tightly shut against the present, set on the future, and the mechanics in his mind clunked together. It jammed every once in a while, causing catastrophic migraines that he was sure would never really go away. Just as the bond he'd unknowingly created with Granger was guaranteed to haunt him._

_Groaning, he rose from his desk as if it were the cause of all his problems and went to the window, gazing out at the lighter shades of gray that streaked over the clouds, subtly alerting them to a new day. Only hours ago, his home had been invaded. Only hours ago, he'd made the mistake of getting too close._

_And now he was receiving the blunt of the repercussions._

_His nails dug into the mahogany paneling._

_A clamor disrupted his thoughts and, as he swirled around, the doors to his study burst open._

"_And what exactly is this brilliant plan of yours?" Theodore Nott asked even before he was completely inside the room. He looked agitated, a strange reaction Malfoy thought since Theo was known to be the most calm of the group; to the point that he was annoying. The two of them rarely got on well._

_It was known that Theo didn't believe Malfoy's rise to second in command was well thought out._

_Malfoy scowled, the creases in his face that had developed over the past few months deepening around his mouth. "You know what it is, Nott, so why don't you just tell me what it is you think so I can kill you already."_

"_Oh, but the Lord would be displeased with you," Theo replied nonchalantly as he took to sitting in one of Malfoy's seats. He didn't seem to notice the bullets being glared into his head._

"_At this point, I honestly could not give a damn. Get out before I do something I won't exactly regret," Draco shot, his face crippled with a sudden revulsion. There was never a meeting in which this man, who was beneath him in all aspects, didn't criticize Malfoy's actions. It was only due to the mercy and demands of the Dark Lord that Theodore Nott was not dead. Or at least, that's what Malfoy resorted to telling himself._

_There was a strange necessity, an urge to keep this wizard alive despite his transgressions._

"_Draco. Don't do this."_

_Malfoy stared at Theo, watching the crease in the other man's brow grow severe. He swallowed, unsure how to react. Their friendship had long ago dissolved, but for once Nott looked for all the world sincere._

_But, in this world, he could trust nothing._

"_Why not?"Malfoy asked coldly, his eyes turning to the bookcase across from him as sounds from the inner room pulled his attention away; his mother was moving about._

_Even more, the idea of leaving bit at him._

"_Malfoy," his name tugged him back to the conversation. "What are your intentions in going over there?" Theo was staring at him intensely, watching for any cracks in his façade._

_Draco knew better than to ever falter. He gave a sneer in response. "What? Did no one spell it out for you clearly enough? I'm off to sneak my way into their rankings. I'm going to be a spy, of course."_

_There was no change in Nott's disposition. "And that's it?"_

"_What the hell kind of stupid interrogation is this?" Malfoy seethed, restraining himself against moving around his desk in order to punch the prying idiot in the face._

_Theo sighed, slowly rising from his seat. "I was just making sure, that is all."_

_Draco gapped, watching with suspicion as his former friend walked towards the door, only to stop and glance back. His mouth had slipped open, and he looked ready to say something. Quickly, the man learned better and shut it tight as he left the room._

_Alone, Malfoy collapsed into the seat his father had once governed the Manor from. If he didn't do this right, he would be lying next to Lucius Malfoy, his mother only a breath away from joining soon after. And then his family would be another name in the books of those who perished under Voldemort's reign._

_The migraine was returning._

A sigh called him, and Malfoy's eyes returned to the present. The coldness of the memory ebbed away as he watched the aggravating woman before him sleep away the problems he brought upon her.

He was anticipating something, another slip of the tongue maybe, but she simply slept, her eyelids finally calm. Whatever dream she'd had, it was over.

His fingers twitched around his wand, his other bare hand edging closer and closer to her form, afraid that any sharp movements would disturb the balance of things.

At the same time, who was to say he was moving too slowly? Any minute someone could walk in, and the chance to linger would be lost to him.

She could wake up.

Finally, the very tips of his fingers graced the fabric of her hand, grazing over the small cuts on her knuckles. It was foreign to him, this tender flesh, and yet his fingers moved with a knowledge of its canvas.

_She snatched her hand away._

"_Draco, for god's sake, I'm trying to study," she scolded, her agitation hard to keep in place as he tried again to play with her dainty fingers. Hermione suppressed a smile, rolling her lips between her teeth as she fought to keep her focus. They were in the commons of the Prefects dorm, the privacy of it not going unrecognized between the two of them. She was scribbling with the other hand, jotting down useless notes they both knew she didn't need to keep._

"_I'm bored," Draco mumbled, his head plopping down against her shoulder, the waft of ambrosia raining over him delightfully. He took a deep breath, basking in her as he laid a tantalizing kiss on her collarbone._

_Sighing, she fidgeted, and his head shifted. He frowned. "Hey."_

"_I'm not a pillow. And if you're bored, how about doing your research for Potions?" She snapped._

"_Hermione. I'm bored. I'm bored because you keep telling me to do work," he replied dryly, watching with more interest than needed as she rolled her brown eyes._

_She turned her head slightly, eying him. "And what then, do you want to do?"_

"_Well," he chimed, his hand curling around hers, fingers entwining. He noted how the light played off her nails. A knowing smile crept onto his face. "I was thinking you could entertain me."_

_Instantly, he found his head falling on the table. "You selfish, dirty-"_

"_I'm actually very clean. I bathed this morning."_

"_Draco," she sighed, but the curve of her lips gave her away._

"_Hermione," he mimicked, scooting closer._

_She rolled her eyes, a laugh in her smile. "You're going to fail this year, I hope you know that."_

_Already, his arms were around her, pulling her into him. He didn't give two shits about class._

_The only interesting object of study was right in front of him._

His hand stiffened over hers and he tried to remember how to breathe, and swallow. He had a lump, he needed to swallow.

Draco was getting used to the sudden visions, though they came rarely. They muddled his intentions, they interfered with everything. And yet, he longed for them to come again.

He'd thought if she'd said his name…

But touch was enough.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, withdrew his hand, and the other tightened around his wand.

With a quiet pop, he was gone.

A/N: So sorry it took me so long to upload this! Just got back on campus for my new semester and things have been hectic. I hope to get the next one up pronto! If I don't, you have the right to stone me to death.

As always, reviews are happily accepted!


	10. Chapter 10

She felt it: a gentle caress that swept from the tips of her fingers to the small hollow just under her wrist. She sensed the warmth she'd been searching for in the darkness of her slumber and in the eaves of the day, a strange familiarity in the texture of this touch and the way it made her nerves sing. She felt it, and it pulled her out of the strange, fuddled gray emptiness of her dream and into the reality of her situation.

Slowly, Hermione Granger came back to her senses, and smelt the strong musk of a man, tasted the restless tension in the air, and felt the old pressure of tired springs on her back. Her eyelids were heavy, her body dragged under groggy waters and iron sheets, but she was aware of her surroundings and the sudden change when a muddled sound took away the affection that had been so welcomed on her skin.

With it gone, the urge to wake up died and she swiftly fell back into the dream of gray.

It felt like ages later that she felt that same presence, security beside her, the gentle goings of skin against her own hand. It was slightly harder this time around to force herself awake, but when she did, Hermione focused in on the warm face of Victor. Behind him it was dark but she could hear the small chatter of people as they began to wake early in the day and the reason for this she soon gathered in the way her things were arranged.

Everything in her tent, except for herself and the makeshift bed she slept on, was packed up in boxes piled across the way and ready to go; had probably been from the moment the deatheaters attacked, and it was all just waiting on her. They were all waiting on her.

"Morning," Victor chimed, an amused smile on his face as she took everything in with a wave of confusion and urgency.

Anxious to leave after her mind slowly accepted these facts, she began to rise only for a sudden and pertinent pain in the back of her head to disable her attempts. Hermione let out a groan, a hand moving to the place that was handicapping her, and felt the gauze of wrappings. They were slightly dampened, and by what she was not too inept to realize was blood.

Finally, she remembered herself and how she'd gotten in that bed to begin with.

There were hands on her, Victor's, urging her to lay back down but, after finding her resistant, began to ease her into a sitting position. His voice was blurry, and so was his entire body as her mind whirled.

"Shit," Hermione hoarsely grumbled, now gradually straightening herself out with Victor's help. The mattress complained along with her, probably as ready for her to get up on her feet as she was. Hopefully, if she could find the bones that connected the lower regions of her body together, she would be able to get going soon enough.

It was a task she was finding adamantly difficult. And it sounded like Victor was laughing.

When she stopped moving, things began to come back into focus and, yes, he was laughing. But he was trying hard to kill it.

"You're so stubborn," he chided with a shake of the head as he gathered her shoes from beneath the bed. She grimaced, pointing her feet for him to put her sneakers on even though she wanted to do it herself.

"Hermione? Ah, you're awake. Good thing too. Wouldn't want to think of what could've been going on in your head if you'd slept any longer," came a quaint voice from just outside the tent flaps. Caught in the act of playing idly with the short but growing locks of her boyfriend, Hermione glanced up to see who'd stumbled upon them. Luna stood at the entrance of her quarters, doe eyes taking in Hermione and Victor. A dainty smile formed on Lovegood's face.

"Oh, no need for shoes really. Here," she stated quietly, breaking into the room with a wheelchair.

Hermione looked absolutely horrified.

"Um, Luna. I don't think that'll be necessary. Once I get up, I'll be fi-" Luna waved off the explanation, scooting the chair up to the bed and Victor reached for Hermione's own outstretched, defensive arm.

"It's just a precaution, Hermione. You won't be in it for long, just until we're sure you're fully recovered," he tried to reason as his hands plucked her up off the bed.

"I am fully recovered," Hermione grumbled, even as Victor helped her awkward body into the chair. She grimaced as he began to roll her out of the comfort of her tent with Luna in tow, as eyes from around the camp fell on her. She instantly felt small, and had to fight the desire to shrink into the comfort of the wheelchair she was in.

And simultaneously, Hermione was itching to leap out of it.

"How long was I out?" She asked, fearful of the answer.

"Three days," came the disgruntled reply, from who she wasn't sure. Her brain was contorting in on itself. When she closed her eyes, though, and the gray washed over her vision, everything became tranquil.

"I'm assuming we have a few things to discuss," she muttered as the route they were on became overly familiar. They were heading down to the center of the camp, where the headquarters for strategy lay in wait. No doubt, the others were anticipating her arrival to discuss the evident need to leave.

She felt her hollow stomach drop beneath her feet, and it was instantly crushed under the weight of the wheels as they rolled over it. Hermione had plans for leaving, of course, but she wasn't entirely sure now was the most appropriate time to reveal them.

And yet, weren't they more than ready to put her strategies into motion? With this attack, Hermione was quickly coming to realize that now was the most appropriate time to take the offense.

She was tired of playing defense, and she was more than certain everyone else was as well.

So, when Victor finally wheeled Hermione into the tent clustered with the usual group of strategists and trustworthy people, she wasn't completely overwhelmed by the swarm of questions that came at her from those who weren't particularly sympathetic to her condition.

"The deatheaters-"

"-we need to get a move on-"

"That could have been just the first of multiple strikes-"

"We're lucky they didn't look past the village-"

"Quiet!" She flinched at the sound of her own dry voice and the ring it left bouncing about in her head. Okay, maybe she was a bit overwhelmed.

Instantly, her main complainers settled down, only Seamus seeming to continue to mutter in the background about having to eat fish, and other urgent matters.

She narrowed in on the few who looked intently at her, waiting: Ron, the silent but healthy looking Kingsley, Molly, and Arthur. Molly, the mother that she was, was jittery in her seat, glancing over at the bandage on Hermione's head and possibly contemplating saying something about it, or about making her something warm to eat. Ron, on the other hand, looked somewhat queasy at the prospect of what lay underneath her wrappings.

Hermione suppressed a smile, pursing her lips together as she formulated, very carefully, her following words.

"We leave today, immediately, so I'm hoping that it isn't just my things that have been packed."

"Everything has been stored and is ready to be apparated once you give the word," Arthur reassured her. She gave a small nod, thankful that there wouldn't be any unnecessary scrambling to leave.

"Good. Then I'll just need a group to start disassembling the tents and collect anything else that may have been overlooked when everyone was preparing their things." She paused, biting her lip, contemplating.

"And where have you planned for us to go?" Kingsley spoke up, his voice strong as it fell on her shoulders. She glanced over at him, and their minds connected. He was awaiting her words as all the others were, and yet she felt he already knew what was coming. His dark eyes held no anticipation, only acceptance and reassurance that whatever she decided would be correct. He held no judgments, not even when she opened her mouth and finally let out what she'd told already told Ron.

"I'm dividing us into groups that will then go on missions to separate occupied states. We've been given locations of prominent deatheater groups throughout Europe and the Middle East and while we cannot cover them all at the same time, we should start letting them know we're no longer in hiding," she announced, her decision unyielding even as a few gave out small gasps and groans of reproach; Ron being among these few.

"Okay," came Arthur's strong reply, his wife nodding with him. Ginny, having just returned from rounds, caught the ends of the new strategy and was now looking from her parents to Hermione, a strange look of consternation taking over her features. Others looked ready to strike, but these were the same people who had not gained insight on who'd given them these locations.

Even if they did not approve, it was Kingsley's final say that brought a hush to the discussion.

"Have you selected the groups and which places we're to attack first?" He asked diligently, and quickly all eyes focused in once more on Hermione. Under the table they surrounded, her hands rung one another. Above the table, her face was clear and secure of any emotion besides that of determination.

"I have. Each group will have an assigned leader who will be in strict communication with me. I have designated Krum, Arthur, Dean, Bill and myself as the primary leaders, with others as supplementary ones when plans begin to branch out as I arranged them to. Five for the five regions we'll begin to take back, and to each of you I will give all the contacts, maps, and correspondence we've received thus far to help narrow down our targets. Krum, you will be in charge of giving reports and following the strategy I've roughly sketched out for East Europe. It's a big sector, and I know you have many contacts there."

She quickly snuck a look at Kingsley. His face composed and intent, she went on with vigor.

"Arthur, the north-western part of Europe will be in your diligent hands. Dean, you've always had your hand on the pulse of the Mediterranean so that will be your focus, Bill you'll take the middle-east."

She sucked in a breath.

"And you'll be taking Australia?" Ron watched her from the corner of the room, his question quiet but well heard in the stretch of silence that followed her assignments. She met the depth of his green eyes, and saw the anxiety he held there for her despite their transgressions against one another lately. She remembered missing him, and wondered of their status. She didn't want to leave not knowing if their friendship would withstand the coming weeks, months.

"Yes, I'm knowledgeable of the area and it will be the aim of You-Know-Who to bring it fully under his command as the other regions slowly have. I have the exact locations in these regions of the highlighted headquarters, and it will be each group's task to affirm that these stations are the main sectors. Once we're sure, the dialogue on how and when to proceed with attacks will begin. This may take a long while, and I know a lot of us weren't comfortable with the transition from Shell to here but patience is needed."

She looked around; the thorn situated in her chest gradually retreated as she realized the others weren't constructing arguments in their heads. For the most part, they diligently listened. She noted the warmth in both Arthur's and Victor's eyes as they waited intently for her to conclude.

Hermione swallowed down the rock that was lodged in her throat.

"We all knew this war would not end tomorrow. We all accepted that this war would be hard-fought. The wait, the preying before the attack will be and is nothing compared to the swell of relief, of resolution that will come in the light of the end. And we will be victorious. It may take us months, years even, but know that this will all bring us one step closer to home."

"I've been waiting to take that step for a very, very long time." Kingsley gave a strong nod, his eyes in the midst of drifting from the present into a realm of its own, no doubt envisioning the end that took two generations to come, which would not be seen by many of his former colleagues.

And with that, the silence was breached and the others that crowded the room began to discuss with her, more avidly than she'd expected, of the groups that were to be established and to where they would go.

It was only after everyone had been situated, notes jotted, and plans written in stone, that the uncomfortable topic of their discovery came up. It seemed everyone was thinking the same thing, huddled over the table in silence, but no one wanted to speak of it. To say it would bring truth.

"Despite this move being planned ahead of time, we all know we've been rushed and we all know why," Hermione started, watching keenly the reactions of those around her, searching for any unease that would breach trust. "We've been betrayed by someone in our ranks. We have been for a while."

"But, we got rid of that ass hole," Seamus argued, disgruntled. Hermione frowned, remembering the failed siege of the Ministry.

"There is more than one, Seamus. It's become obvious. We could be dealing with only one informant or two, or three, or a group. I doubt it's more than one, but we need to stay vigilant of anything that seems to fall out of line. Once we split up and we take on these missions, we can't have loose ends."

Ron caught Hermione's eyes, and she could almost see the name forming in his mind, saw his lips move. She felt ready to vomit, or beg. Either one could have worked.

"It's Malfoy," he let out.

Instantly, the group rose in agreement, except for a select few including herself. She had to call three times for them to shut the hell up, and even then they looked ready to spew out more words against their latest member.

"He's been constantly under my watch, under our watch, even more so than any other member of this group. Malfoy may be cunning, but I don't think he'd risk it right now. And even if he would, he's not a deatheater," Kingsley spoke up, a look of agitation finally revealing itself after so much tension on this subject.

Hermione swallowed, her nails digging into the table in front of her. Her legs were wobbling, and Luna's hand on her shoulder kept nudging down as if to push her back into the wheelchair she'd gradually rose from during the discussion.

"He saved my life," she admitted, the truth of her words twisting her ribcage. "He saved my life."

And then there it was, the scent of nostalgia and strength just behind her shoulder. It was luring her in, making her take in deep breaths. A phantom hand was wrapping around her own, a light pressure reassuring her nerves as they had while she'd slept. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sensations, pressed them until she saw blaring lights of red and white, until the delightful touch vanished.

When she looked up from her blanched hands, trying to maintain composure, she spotted Viktor frowning, Ron beside him biting against a heated comment no doubt. Neither noticed the clamminess of her skin and neither spoke against her statement; because there was nothing to argue. It was a solid fact, a realization that Hermione would never be able to deny.

And it felt like yet another boulder falling into place above her.

"If not him, then who?" Almost everyone jumped at the sound of Ginny's voice from the far corner of the tent, where she'd managed to ease herself into the shadows. She was always teetering on the cusp of her fight, and for many there this was the first time they'd heard her take part in any critical discussion. For some, this was the first time they even heard her speak, period.

She didn't take kindly to all the eyeballs that fell on her, and a scowl quickly formed. "Is an answer written on my forehead?" She snapped. Quickly, the groups' focus fell back on Hermione, or the table, except for Hermione herself. She was struggling to keep back a smile as Ginny scoffed at the others.

"I don't know. That's why I need all of you to be on your toes. Look out for strange behavior, for people who are trying to get out of camp, volunteering too often for patrols, want to send correspondence, check correspondence that leaves here, that kind of thing. We were able to eliminate threats before, we can do it again. Just, constant vigilance," Hermione answered.

"And if it is him?" Ron, once again, being a stubborn prick. Hermione sighed.

"I'll keep an eye on him myself, if that helps you sleep at night."

"Not really, no."

"Ron," she warned, a flash of anger shooting between them. He ground his teeth, watching her and contemplating whether or not to say whatever spiteful thing was formulating in his head. He seemed to remember himself, and the talk they'd had earlier, maybe he just saw her wound and felt a spark of pity, but either way he backed down.

Well, sort of.

"So he'll be going to Australia then, with you?" He asked, and the question hit Hermione in her stomach. Though it was empty, she felt ready to hurl. Victor, she caught, had become rigid- more so than was normal for the man.

"And me," Kingsley interrupted before Hermione could really gain control over her lungs again. "He will be under strict watch, even though he's earned his rank here."

Ron struggled against a scowl as he looked away from the two leaders, defeat in the slouch of his shoulders.

She wanted so badly to talk to him again, but she knew the moment she opened her mouth that now was not the right time.

Even if it had been, as soon as she heard the tent flaps flutter as someone entered, it no longer was. Hermione looked up from Ron, and was instantly swallowed by gray.

"Oh, seems I'm a bit late. No one came to tell me about the meeting, strange," Malfoy announced coolly, though his lips were tightly pressed, suppressing agitation.

"Excuse me, but you were not invited to this meeting. It's for level 4 and 5 clearance members, and you, last time I checked, are level 1," Hermione huffed, her own annoyance escalading as Malfoy's pursed lips eased into the all too familiar cocky smile she'd come to hate with a vengeance.

"Well, last time you checked was three days ago," he sighed heavily, his eyes intent on her face. And he was more than satisfied with the reaction this brought out of her. She gaped, along with a few others who seemed just as confused. Ron looked about ready to burst with how inflated his face was.

Kingsley, on the other hand, appeared far too nonchalant.

Her throat was dry again and she had to swallow three times before she could even think of speaking.

"Kingsley, you promoted him?" She asked, almost pleadingly. She prayed it was a sick joke of Malfoy's, just to toy with her. It was something he entertained daily.

"He and I have had… words while you were healing and before that. I believe his intellect and overall knowledge of the other side would be advantageous," was Kingsley's rational. A million eyes were narrowed in on him and Hermione. No doubt, they were waiting for an explosion, or a challenge.

And it was hard for her. She opened her mouth, only to close it and heave a daunting breath. Hermione was worried Kingsley had lost sight of himself. But, she believed so severely in his leadership. He was her idol. But had he fallen?

She glanced over at Malfoy, who already looked like he'd won the battle despite the daggers her ignited eyes sent at him.

The entire room was tense. And it was wearing on her gears.

"Well, congratulations on being late to your first meeting. It's finished, so if you want the information that was given, you can find it out on your own," she huffed, lightheaded and already feeling Victor's presence around her waist.

"You're looking pale," was his way of indicating her need to sit. And for once, she complied. Immediately, the crowd dispersed in, what was becoming normal, agitation. As people began to fill out, grumbling, Victor began to push at her wheelchair but stopped when a hand shot out and held onto her armrest.

Kingsley gave a small nodto Victor. "Forgive me, Krum, but I would like to have a conversation with Miss Granger."

She was itching to wheel herself out as Victor, with a grunt of frustration and a small squeeze of Hermione's shoulder, moved from her side. As he passed by Malfoy, both men stiffened and Hermione readied herself for a confrontation she wasn't looking forward to. But instead, after a terse look, Victor left her.

Malfoy apparently had no intention of leaving.

"Alone," she barked at him.

"No, no. I wish to speak to the both of you," Kingsley interjected, though it didn't look like her order had meant a damned thing to Malfoy.

"If you wanted to ask Granger here to thank me for saving her life the other day, by all means: ask," Malfoy exhaled, the smile back on his face once Victor left the facility.

Hermione's head was swimming, blood rushing to it and filling it completely with thoughts of tearing him apart. But she couldn't feel her legs, so that was out unless he walked over to her and let her at it.

She closed her eyes and rubbed at them, groaning. "Malfoy, any time you'd like to shut up, that would be nice."

"Sorry, I don't think that was a valid 'thank you'," he jeered.

"Both of you," Kingsley sighed, as if monitoring two children. He might as well have been.

Hermione gave up trying to will it all away behind closed eyes and chanced looking at Kingsley, who was a mixture of agitated and amused. Never a good sign.

"I need you two to work together, fix whatever is going on that's keeping you from being cordial," when Hermione tried to speak in objection, he raised a hand that immediately shot her down. "I don't care what the reasons are. Hermione, if you can't work with him why should anyone else? You said it yourself: we can't be fighting amongst ourselves."

She had the urge to say he wasn't exactly a part of "ourselves" but, instead, she swallowed down the temptation and nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Now do I get a thank you?" Malfoy's cocky response came. Kingsley eyed him sharply, and there was the distinct sound of Malfoy clearing his throat behind Hermione.

"I will see you at noon when we leave, then," Kingsley concluded before rising from his seat and leaving the two of them alone.

As soon as the flap fell in place behind Kingsley, Hermione's hands were on her wheels, and she was readying to leave. No sooner was Malfoy's loafer serving as a stopper against the left one and the air filled with tension. He wasn't necessarily close to her, but his long legs easily blocked her from leaving unless she decided to stand up.

And that was exactly her intention.

"Don't. Let's be sensible, now, Granger," he chided as she attempted to lift herself up.

"Oh, please," she groaned, irritated that she had to look up at him from where she was seated and ready to snap at him to let her go. The anger, though, simmered down drastically when she saw the sarcasm in the lines of his face fall.

"What?" She asked, suddenly self-conscious as he continued to stare at her, his eyes roaming over her bandage and the jutting knuckles in her hands.

A subtle frown, barely detectable.

"You know, I'm still waiting," he finally said, clearing his throat as he turned his attention back to Hermione's face, which instantly burned red-hot.

"For what?" Heated, she was feeling light headed all over again, flustered. She blinked, trying to shake off the queasiness, and then he was there, leaning over her with his strong hands gripping the wheelchair on either side. She froze, his face a foot or so from her and the waves of breath hit her like a punch; there it was again, that strange familiarity that only heightened her confusion, her head seemed to spin faster.

"You look disgusting, Granger," was his comment when she finally focused back in on his far too close for comfort face. He had the smile back, crooked with the force he was putting into it. For once, the joke didn't seem invested in properly. He was too busy watching her, waiting for her to pass out? He would have a real laugh at that.

"Thanks, Malfoy. Always a boost, talking to you," she grumbled, putting a hand to her head. She heard him chuckle, felt the chair start to move, and the ground shift beneath her.

"I can wheel myself," she protested, though she hadn't made the effort to look up.

"Not until you say thank you," he replied snidely, moving her at a snail's pace towards the exit.

She tried not to scream, mainly because she probably would pass out and then all his wildest dreams would come true.

The light from outside was increasing in strength and the last thing she wanted was to be seen being carted around by Draco Malfoy.

Hermione bit her lip, a struggle of pride raging inside.

"Thank you, for saving my life the other day. It was appreciated. There, happy?" she finally bolted out just as they reached the tent's opening.

He came to a stop and she stiffened, feeling instantaneously doped.

She could hear him clearing his throat, licking his lips, doing anything besides leaving. Hermione twisted herself around in the chair, flinching at the whining from her ribs, and tried to see Malfoy's face against the sunlight that was pouring in as the sun rose in the sky. It illuminated his gray eyes, freezing her there as her dream flickered before her. An endless pool of gray, more of an ocean than anything.

She'd drowned in it, and yet it hadn't been a nightmare.

"Do you ever…" He drifted off, sucking in a breath as he squinted his eyes against the sunlight. Malfoy turned those drowning orbs onto her, sucking her into their depths.

"Do you ever think of the possibilities?"

"Of what?" She slowly asked, confused.

He hesitated. "Of the lives we could have led had we not walked so rigid a line?" His eyes pierced her, waiting.

And in them she saw the remnants of a kiss, steaming up the glass of his eyes, and the distant vision of a shared smile. She felt someone's hand on her own, that same reassuring, safe grip that kept her grounded in an ocean of gray.

She swallowed, blinking. "No."

She broke contact first, looking down at his hands as he let go of the chair with a distant chuckle.

"Silly question. See you later, Granger."

And once he was gone, she tried at moving herself only to realize her hands were trembling violently.

A/N: As always, I'd love to know what you guys think thus far. This chapter isn't a favorite of mine but hopefully it isn't painful to read. I hope to update soon!


	11. Chapter 11

_It was another cloudy day. It was another funeral. It was the last in a succession of too many for Hermione Granger to count._

_Her black dress was submerged in a splotch of morbidity, Ron done up in a raggedy funeral robe beside her; the Weasleys' cluster of red hair was the only striking color in the mass of silent, pale wizards and witches that accumulated in front of the mass graveyard they'd managed to put together beside Shell Cottage. Dobby's grave lay only feet away from these lines of markers that dictated all of the fallen from the battle of Hogwarts. This particular one lay closest of them all to Dobby. It only felt right, seeing as he'd been the one to bury the small elf._

Here Lies Harry Potter

The Hero Who Lives On

07/31/80 – 05/02/98

_The boy who lived, the man who died. A hope, a best friend, a brother. Her brother. They had not shared the same blood, but in her veins she felt him. Or rather, she had. Those same veins were withering now._

_"Today, we honor a man who sacrificed…"_

_Hermione flinched as Kingsley began his speech, his potent words falling on deaf ears as her eyes roamed over the gravestone, over the fresh covering of dirt that was piled atop a slumbering friend._

_Six feet too deep._

_She could feel the coil that tied her to Harry being severed thread by iron thread as the Fates reminded her of what they'd all lost. Of what she'd lost._

_Her legs were faltering beneath her stone body, and she could feel the crack of her ankles as they tried to keep her crumbling frame up. Her throat was dry, a thirst she could never satisfy sapping away everything except for the tears that were pooling up behind the wall she'd carefully built up inside. It was a wall that had taken time to build, and was constantly under siege._

_She was so tired of crying, of breaking down at the smallest pressure, of feeling so utterly defenseless against the pain monsters forced onto her, onto them._

_She was worn down, creaky and rotting away. Her body was a home left emptied long ago, left to be eaten by vermin from the outside in until even her foundation began to cave. But she was too stubborn, this old house. She refused to fall down, not anymore. She'd let too many things take advantage of her, too many things to live off of her and suck her dry._

_She couldn't cry any more. There was no room for weakness, when every enemy was just looking for the soft spot to bulldoze through and cripple her completely._

_But, damn it, she wanted to fall._

_Ron's warm hand found its way onto hers, and latched on for dear life. She felt its warmth immediately against her own icy skin, against the bitter cold breeze. It was a tight grip, cutting off her circulation, reminding her that she was still alive, still needing those throbbing fingers._

_When she looked at him, she saw another old, withered house._

_"Your resident clear out too?" She thought. "Mine too."_

_Same resident, she wanted to scream._

_And as much as Ron could sympathize, could share this eagerly spreading pain with her, he could not feel the utter hollowness she felt. His house had visitors. He had his family, a strong and sturdy chunk of his foundation remained even after Fred's passing._

_All she'd had was Harry as a foundation, and Ron as her roof. But what good was the roof if she had nowhere to stand?_

_Her family was gone. There was no getting them back now and, even as she clawed at the earth once everyone had left and returned to the shelter of the cottage, Hermione knew there was no way of bringing Harry back._

_There was no one left to fill her up._

_This house was a shell of a home._

* * *

Australia, a continental plain of desert and beach and forestry. Hazardous inside the cities where deatheaters swarmed, just as hazardous in the wild with multiple creatures that were more than willing to kill intruders; spiders included so it was a heaven sent that Ron had, very enthusiastically, joined Victor's group. It was supposed to be summer here, nearing the end of it, but there was no sign of the sultry sun, or the waves of muggy heat that was infamous here in the woods of the Ourimbah State Park. And, as people began to set up camp behind Hermione, they were greeted with the same downcast, eerie darkness that had swallowed them whole. The skies were bleak above the hovering canopy of trees, momentary glimpses of hope as the sun fought against the clouds for the last time that evening were snuffed out post-haste as more wisps of smoke rolled over the horizon and spread out like a disease. The skeletal leaves of the trees were already falling to the ground in clumps, yet there were still enough to help shroud the area in long shadows that seeped into her skin.

Those dangerous animals Hermione had to instruct her group on were nowhere to be seen. These woods she'd remembered being so lively with the sounds of creeks and critters roaming about the brush were now almost completely dead silent outside of the site's protective barrier. It was obvious to everyone, and everything, that something was terribly wrong with the world. Everything was giving up, giving way to the plague Voldemort had cursed on the land. The only remnants of life were in the moving bodies of the rebellion.

But she didn't want to dwell too long on the possibilities of life in Australia.

"Admiring the Vagus?" Luna's distant voice called to Hermione, the crunch of the leaves beneath Luna's feet only barely warning the other witch to her arrival. She swallowed, turning away from the trees to look at her quiet companion in slight confusion. Luna was supposed to be doing rounds on the other side of camp, but it seemed she'd swapped out with someone else. And now, she was asking Hermione about things she really had no time to think about.

She never did understand Luna very much, even if she'd grown fond of the strange creature over the past months. While Hermione's muscles were endlessly coiled, Luna Lovegood was the epitome of relaxation. It irked her.

"No? Just me then," her friend chimed as she glanced out into the thick wall of a forest. Vibrant blue eyes were hovering over a particular flower, watching it with a keenness that didn't particularly make sense. It wasn't a very pretty flower, hardly noticeable from the shrubbery surrounding it. If Hermione hadn't known better, from Luna's classification, she would have thought it was a weed from the blanched, off-white color of its petals. It was just so plain.

For a while, they stayed that way: Hermione, too hesitant to leave and see how her ensemble of members was doing at the campsite. Luna, too preoccupied with a weed/flower to notice the awkwardness of the moment.

"Peculiar, this Vagus. They usually travel in groups," Hermione caught Luna sighing. She peered over at her, now completely confused.

"Travel?"

Luna nodded noncommittally. "Yes, see, they're rootless. Well, the literal translation of the name is-"

"-roaming," Hermione cut in, annoyed. "I know. I just thought it meant that they're everywhere, like weeds." She glanced back at the flower in distaste, as if it had done her such a great offense in being in existence.

"No, no. Actually, they're very rare. Not at all like weeds. They actually roam, because they detach themselves from their surroundings and move elsewhere. Of course, they don't walk, but when the wind picks up, they simply fly off and latch on to something desirable. But, they only move in groups, so this one is a bit odd. Its color is off, too."

Without another word, Luna bent down and whisked the flower into the palm of her hand, bringing it up for Hermione to, reluctantly, see.

The stem of the flower was depressed, limp as Luna nudged it. The most peculiar thing was the utter absence of roots.

"Wait, don't they have something down there to latch onto the ground?"

"Of course! They're just very small hairs, but extremely strong. I wouldn't have been able to pick this little one up if it didn't want me to. Once they make a home, they grow extremely attached until it's time to leave."

"But, it's a flower. It can't have feelings about its environment. That's silly," Hermione ridiculed, uncomfortable.

And then, a small smile pulled up Luna's laugh lines.

"You think me mad, don't you?" She asked, tearing her attention away from the Vagus in her hand. That smile stayed, humorous, not the slightest annoyed. She never did seem to get agitated.

Hermione grimaced. "Sometimes, yes," she admitted sheepishly. Luna's laugh rang clear, wistful but a note shy of flat. There was a sadness in her eyes as she glanced down at the small flower, stroking the soft petals and admiring it as the brownish tint began to fade.

"All of us are mad, sometimes. Now, more than ever. Hopelessness does the most unusual things to people. Even flowers react differently when they've lost something. Are you alright, being here?" Her eyes fell back on Hermione, instantly making the other witch uncomfortable once more in her skin. She was see-through. No matter how much she tried to think of this woman as off when she tried to analyze flowers, she seemed too keenly insightful when it came to humans.

"Is that why you volunteered to come here? To make sure I was 'alright'?" Hermione scrutinized, unfairly harsh.

Luna nodded. "Of course. Mainly because of the injury, but also out of concern. It's normal for a friend to be concerned, isn't it?"

Hermione had never taken Luna for someone who wanted to achieve normality. She stared at her, waiting for something other than the sincerity painted over the smooth features of Luna's face. But naturally, what she saw with Luna was always what she got.

She swallowed again, a collection of shards in her throat, crystallizing off of one another.

_Friend_, Hermione heard. Of course Luna was her friend. Of course Luna would want to make sure she was okay. Of course. But Hermione wasn't a good friend. She didn't trust herself to speak.

And that's why it took an eternity for her to finally confirm her sanity.

"I'm fine."

There was no sign that Luna didn't believe her, or even that she did. She gave a kindred smile, turned her focus back onto her adopted Vagus flower and retreated back to the site.

Hermione, herself, would not return to camp. She made excuses, preparing and reinforcing the wards, mapping out lakes and creeks, and possible places near Sydney to retrieve food from by the light of her wand just outside of the base's perimeter. She stayed out of people's way as they went about doing their assignments. It was a basic day, nothing needed from her, and so Hermione took it as her day to strategize and scout the area. And, of course, she wanted quiet.

And for a while, immersed in the dense wilderness that managed to remind her of her time in Dean, Hermione was able to sink into herself.

But of course, all good things come to an end.

"Merlin, Granger, how do you ever get anything done if all you do is stare off into space? Those poor maps must feel utterly depressed." Snide, condescending: only one person could execute such a line so nauseatingly.

Today was not the day.

She was developing the right concoction of words in her head, opening her mouth to tell him to _please_ leave her alone, when she realized Draco Malfoy was already making himself perfectly at home across from where she was sitting against a tree. In the shroud of nightfall, under the dismal lighting she'd called forth from her wand she could see him adjusting, dusting off his jeans as he sunk back against a hunched tree, and looking completely oblivious to her discomfort.

No, no. Horrible wording. He actually looked completely satisfied by her discomfort.

When his haughty face finally turned up to see her reaction in all its glory, it was with the expectation of a fight. But all Hermione could muster was a loaded sigh.

"Malfoy, please. I took up patrol alone for a reason."

He scratched his chin, glanced down at the black lines under his nails with a grimace, and then shrugged at her. "And I took up patrol just now for a reason, too," was his brilliant reply.

"Oh, is that so. Please, enlighten me," Hermione grumbled, turning to the papers she'd previously discarded beside her and rummaging through them just to keep her hands occupied and off Malfoy's throat. She didn't have the energy to do this right now, and especially after Kingsley's warning.

"Well, if you want to know so badly: I thought it was poor judgment on your part to let you go out on your own."

"Malfoy, I'm-"

"-perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. You see, that isn't really true from the look of that bump in the back of your head. Mind you, it's hard to see through the fray of frizz atop your skull but its there I'm sure. How is that going, by the way? Not the mane, the bump."

She glared at him, but he didn't look a bit perturbed. If anything, he looked utterly at peace, that sloping, ridiculous smile on his face once more. Did it ever come off?

"It's fine," she barked.

"No more fainting spells?" He tried so hard to look concerned.

"I did not faint," Hermione shot, defensive, though the heat rising to her face was making her lightheaded all over again.

"Oh, but I heard you did. So strange, how it happened once I left you yesterday."

"I was just tired. I fell asleep-"

"While trying to wheel yourself back to your tent? If you say so, Granger," he chuckled, his head falling back against the tree. His eyes watched her face as it puffed up and then hastily deflated. She shook her head, detaching herself from an argument that would leave her with a headache.

"Please, just go Malfoy," she muttered dismally. Her request was followed by silence, and she wondered briefly if he'd managed to disappear just as quietly as he'd appeared. But, when she peeked from beneath her lashes, she realized he was still there.

His smile was gone.

"I don't want to," he replied finally, catching her eye. She averted her attention, looking back at the maps on her lap.

"Malfoy, please. Please. I can't believe I'm saying please so many times, but please just leave me in peace for one day. I just want one day to myself, even if it's to work," she huffed, fidgeting with the frayed corner of the local map she'd grabbed from the deserted tourist help desk they'd discovered yesterday night when they arrived.

"You? In peace? That seems like a contradiction," he scoffed. She dared to look again, to see if he was amused by her agitation, but instead she found him intently staring back at her. He was always watching her like a hawk did its prey, waiting for a move that would signal for him to swoop in and destroy her.

She tried, and managed, to keep her face a blank slate.

"With you around? Yes, very much so. Go, now," she ordered, simultaneously dismissing him as she started drawing lines to different places on the layout of the forest, even though they meant nothing. Just doodling, looking busy so he would finally leave.

What a ridiculous notion.

"You know, the camp's been talking about your… connection to Australia." Finally, he got to the point of today's attack.

Hermione could feel her insides shrivel up, taste the iron on her tongue as she bit down on it too roughly, hear her swallow down the scream she wanted to let out.

"Malfoy, if you're here to ridicule my professionalism, so help me," she started but Malfoy had leaned over, and his index finger laid a breath away from her lips, telling her to be quiet. Gray eyes were studying her own, a strange clarity in them that left her muddled.

She swallowed again, curling her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

As suddenly as his hand had appeared in front of her, it was gone and he was leaning back, almost pressing, on his tree.

"You never let a man finish, do you?" Malfoy breathed, running a strong hand through his blonde locks, almost looking frustrated. Almost.

He shook his head when she didn't respond.

"I was going to say it was a bad idea, yes, but not because of professionalism. Granger, we're in the middle of a war. Professionalism is the least of our problems. It's just… I don't think you should…" He grimaced, grinding his teeth together as he thought something through, shifting his weight uncomfortably and staring intensely at the canopy above. Just barely, she herself could make out the slim outline of the moon against the clouds and leaves.

"Should what?" She asked, regretting it as soon as the words came out of her mouth. Why the hell was she doing this to herself?

He heaved, finally looking back at her, her face warming under his gaze. "I don't think you should torture yourself like that." Genuine. His voice, soft and genuine. So much more potent, more damaging than the snidest remark he could have ever made.

She was choking on something, a memory of her parents faces the last time she'd seen them. They hadn't seen her. Not really. They didn't remember her anymore, and probably never would now. Were they even alive?

"You have no right to lecture me," she forced out coldly, fighting against the tsunami of sensations she'd locked away so tightly under the floorboards of her heart. "No right."

"I'm not lecturing," he argued, sincerity still there but edged with irritation.

"Oh, yes you are. Don't talk to me about things you don't understand. Don't you dare bring up my parents, when it's because of your lot that I had to do what I did," she shot, her eyes gleaming. She blinked back the wetness, reminding herself of where she was, who she was with, who she was. Who was she, now, anyways?

"Really that high and mighty, are you Granger? Can't possibly fathom that someone might be able to sympathize, or would it be that you can't accept that I have that ability? Am I that much of a monster, that I don't know what it feels like to lose someone?"

They were glaring at one another, seething. Everything escalated so quickly between them, so unbalanced and constantly raging. One wrong word, and she was sure the forest would be ablaze with their fire.

"Oh, please. Lucius Malfoy was no loss to the world," she retorted, her anger retreating despite her drive to continue the fight. She couldn't keep it up.

"You think I don't know that? He was no loss to the world, but he was still of my blood. I despised the man, but I loved my father. Besides, your parents are still alive so stop wallowing in self-pity," he snapped heatedly.

She felt like the ground under her was starting to shift apart. Cold water had splashed over the inferno in her heart.

"I don't know that," Hermione feebly muttered, her vision suddenly going blurry.

"Yes, you do," came a quiet reply. "You always know. There's a part of you that knows they're alive. You just don't want to accept that brief happiness."

She blinked hard, clearing her vision to see Malfoy watching her again. Did he see her weaknesses so easily? Was she that much of a glass house?

The intensity of his gaze almost shattered that glass.

"I don't want my hopes to be crushed," she defended lamely.

"Very smart. Just crush them yourself. You love fueling your own pain don't you?" He shook his head at her, a frustrated quirk in his smile as he did so. "You really are ridiculous."

"Fuck you," she spat, but there was barely any venom left to shoot.

"I have so many different ways to respond to that, and all of them would so quickly fly over your pretty little head," he sighed, casually letting his legs stretch out in front of him.

She flushed bright red and looked away before he could eye her reaction again.

"You're no orphan either so I still don't know why you think you have the right to ridicule me," Hermione insistently argued, glaring at a defenseless bush to her right.

Something that sounded like a response came from Malfoy's direction. When she glanced up to see, though, he looked as if he hadn't spoken. He was frowning at the ground, arms crossed rigidly.

"Come again?" She ventured.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"No, you said something."

He huffed, a grimace on his face. "Of course you'd fucking insist. I said, I might as well be." Now he was glaring at the innocent dirt beneath him.

She gapped, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Suddenly interested in my life story, Granger?" He mocked, winning a scowl from her.

"Who's the one who sat down here, insisting on staying and ruining my day?"

"It's actually night, Granger, but I'll let that one slide," he remarked snidely. Her scowl deepened.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair again. She was far too interested in the way the disgruntled strands fell back into place, a few of them splayed in different directions.

"My mother might as well be dead. She's been deranged since father died," he confessed uneasily. Hermione frowned.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled awkwardly. A cold laugh replied, and her eyes immediately flew to his. He looked haggard suddenly, the lines in his face that she'd never bothered to notice before standing in stark contrast against the bones of his cheeks. They weren't laughing lines. They eerily matched the ones forming on her face.

"Hermione Granger, sorry that a pureblood family is suffering because of the backlash of their own ideals. How revolutionary."

"I'm just as capable of holding compassion for a pureblood family as any other, you narcissistic ass hole. This crap about 'blood' and pride that makes you so different doesn't apply to me," she shot back.

Malfoy was shaking his head.

"Oh, no, don't you even fucking start. I'll have you out of here so fucking fast," she ranted but he was doing that leaning thing again so she stopped. She didn't want him anywhere near her.

But he didn't stop.

He leaned in close, breaking the first barrier around her as he observed her with a ghost of that smile of his that made her wild with anger. He was crouched now in front of her, not touching any part of her, but his eyes did enough of that. They brushed against her fisted hands that fought back the shivers they'd been suppressing since yesterday, stroked the lines of her arms as if following the lines of her veins, and rested on the pulse on her throat.

"No. No, just pride, Granger. Just pride, on both of our sides. I've known for a long time that blood is blue and red all the way through no matter whose it is. We spew the same, dark substance in war. I've seen so much of it, I couldn't tell the difference even if there was any. But there isn't. Your blood, my blood. We're the same, Granger. Does it scare you?" He asked, barely above a whisper. He wanted to keep this a secret from the trees around them, and the eyes that nature had. What a revelation for the forest it would have been, to know that these two people were just another aspect of nature, composed of the same dark substance and the same pride. What a scary concept, it made the air shudder into a breeze and pressed the scent of Malfoy onto her, so prominent and memorable.

She remembered the hand that had held her own as she'd slept, the sweet, musky smell that had felt so safe. It was the same one.

She gave a shudder of her own.

He was staring into her muddled brown eyes, and she knew he was waiting for something. But she couldn't find her voice. Instead, Hermione's body summoned another, one that whispered sweet, strange nothings that reminded her too strongly of distant dreams.

He was opening his mouth, so close to hers that she could taste his essence as he breathed out.

"Her-"

"-mione? Hermione! There you are," Luna chimed as she broke through the underbrush and caught the image of Draco Malfoy leaning over Hermione's bent over frame. There was a distinct change in Malfoy's face, the misted but determined angle of his eyes and face grinded into a clenched jaw. He gave out a frustrated sigh as Hermione wiggled out and away from him.

Luna didn't look a bit deterred. "If you're going to look for the Memorfur swarming around her ears, you have to close one eye. It's pointless otherwise, Draco."

There was no disguising the look of utter confusion on Malfoy's face.

"On another note, Hermione, we need you back on camp. We've received intel from Victor but seeing as you're the only one who can open it…" she trailed off, seeming to finally put two and two together. But before she could really process too much, Hermione was up and grabbing at Luna's shoulders.

"Really, great. Let's go see what it says. Malfoy, keep patrolling." And she was off, steering Luna and herself away from the utter nightmare behind her.

Luna's timing was nothing if not impeccable.

"Did I interrupt something important?" Luna asked as she was herded back into the hushed camp, people moving around with a drop in energy that probably had to do with the time. A lot of them also weren't very peachy about a certain member being among them.

Hermione could sympathize.

She forced a smile, reassuring them both. "No, no. Of course not."

"If you say so." Luna was glancing back, trying to see past the thick wall of trees that blocked out Malfoy's shape in the darkness. Hermione wanted to hit the other woman upside the head.

"I do. Now, the intel," Hermione steered the conversation onto better turf, allowing her heart to slow down and her nerves to settle back into their rightful place. They'd entered the head tent where she spotted George and Neville waiting. They were looking past her, waiting uncomfortably for another, unwanted body to materialize.

"It's just us for now. Malfoy took up patrol. So! Let me see," Hermione murmured, grabbing at what appeared to be a pile of blank papers. She frowned.

"I thought you said it was just from Victor." She looked to Luna, who shrugged.

"It is."

Puzzled, Hermione unrolled the documents and ran her fingertips lightly over the surface. Under her touch, the outlines of scribbled words began to surface and grew definitively darker as she continued to stroke it; it was sensitive to her fingerprints alone.

She leaned forward, feeling the shadows fall on her as the others did the same, and read each letter as its scrawls became more excited.

"He's found the location, and he's spotted Bellatrix of all people. No sign of You-Know-Who, but he's been hearing whispers about him… that, that he's not well," Hermione explained, shuffling up the notes he'd sent and stopping to smile at the last one before shoving it in her pocket.

"What was that?" Neville dubiously asked. Hermione eyed him, but she was still smiling.

"Personal note. No need to show and tell."

He flushed, swallowing before pointing out the relevant papers. "So, what do we do now?"

George was clucking his tongue, rubbing his hands together. "What don't we do?"

"George, we've only just got here," Neville muttered, but Hermione was shaking her head, stopping him.

"No, we do something. I've had this planned for a while, and I want them to know they aren't winning this war by a long shot. We're going to do a simultaneous attack." She was staring eagerly at the map in front of her, pointing out the places they'd managed to plot as major headquarters of the death eaters.

"Yesterday, we found our hit and Arthur already confirmed his. We're just waiting on Bill and Dean. I know Dean's group was having a hard time finding cover, but Bill's should be reporting in soon. We have to time this perfectly, so once they're ready, we can start devising the timeline of assaults. We only have this one shot to give a large blow."

"Won't that just let them know that we're here?" Neville asked, frowning.

"That's what we want," Hermione reminded him. "We want them to know we're not hiding anymore. We're here to fight, and to win."

"They'll be scattered, and we can pick them off one by one after we destroy their home base," a familiar, smooth voice came from the tent entrance. Hermione looked up and met Malfoy's eyes, burning with a hunger that didn't match the coolness of his composed face. She felt her skin melt under the heat and quickly looked back to the rest of her small consulting group.

"Exactly," she confirmed. "It's now, or never."

She had to remind herself not to look at Malfoy, even when the burn of his stare seared a hole through her chest.

A/N: I know, I know, WHY HAVEN'T THEY KISSED YET? Right? I'm really slow when it comes to building up relationships but patience, my grasshoppers. It will come. Btw, remember the M rating~

As always, reviews are lovely and are rewarded with goodies! PLEASE, I WANT TO KNOW WHAT YOU GUYS THINK. It makes me really nervous when I only get one review per chapter (though I love her reviews, bless your soul).


	12. Chapter 12

There was grime under Hermione's fingernails, scabs on her knuckles and blood crept out of the ones she picked at as she sat on her cot. She was fiddling with everything, one of the many scabs on her thumb, her unreasonably itchy shirt, and the coin that pressed cool on her chest. It was smooth as she ran her fingers over it and she rubbed at it roughly, as if to make it even smoother against her calloused skin. It was charmed, a sign to tell her when the others were ready, and it had been telling her for the past few minutes that Victor was all set to go. The other coins that fashioned her necklace lay warm, waiting for her signal to the others.

This was it. After two days of planning and making sure everything was in order for the attacks, Hermione was going to lead an assault on the enemy. And as her eyes roamed over her room and landed on the corner of her bed, her stomach dropped.

_Her nerves were still rattled, her nostrils still filled with Malfoy's breath, and she still felt the overwhelming weight of his stare on her back as she'd discussed procedures with the others. No one appeared to notice how she kept balling her hands into fists to hide the sudden shivers that made her fingers rattle. No one really was bothered when she rushed out of the tent after wrapping up the meeting, and no one questioned her retreat to her own personal sanctuary._

_And so, she'd plopped down on her cot and lay there, momentarily paralyzed with relief at finally getting away from the ominous shadow that had stalked her. She had too many things to think about, to do, and she had to keep her focus as it zigzagged, swerved away from her._

_There was way too much at stake, to be thinking of a man of all things. And it wasn't even Victor who was occupying her mind._

_His personal letters lay heavy in her pocket._

_She had closed her eyes, trying to sleep away the ebbing headache that had now become a part of her life, when that familiar scent of nostalgia entered her tent. Maybe, just maybe, it was her mind playing tricks on her again. Or, at least, she wished this to be so._

_"Sleeping on the job, are we?"_

_She needed to wish for things much harder, it seemed._

_Suppressing a groan and holding back every eager nerve that was just waiting to jump ship, Hermione opened her eyes and jolted. Malfoy had somehow managed to reach her bedside without making a peep, and he was making to sit on her cot. Instantly, her legs shot out to take up the space he was eyeing._

_A small grin tilted his inviting lips and he shook his head at her immature display._

_"What do you want?" She asked, clearing her throat to grab his attention away from her bare feet. He ran his gaze up the length of her lying body, searing through her clothes no doubt, until it reached her face, which by then was burning with a fiery heat_ _that had her lightheaded. She squirmed and began to sit up, as if that would deter him from continuing the stream of thoughts she could almost see forming in his eyes._

_Whatever he wanted, she sensed she didn't want to know anymore._

_"To sit, for one," he answered coolly, glancing back at the corner of her makeshift bed before brushing her feet away with a stern hand and sinking into the spot meant for those feet now left awkwardly angled. She pulled them up to her, not wanting a single part of her to be within miles of him, but settling on a few feet._

_"And?" She prodded, wanting this to end fast._

_He pursed his lips and, without consent, her eyes hovered over them and the gleam they took under the flickering light of her lamp._

_His lips were now moving._

_"I was hoping to keep this new operation as hush-hush as possible," Malfoy replied, and her eyes snapped up to his own. They sparked with amusement, and she flushed hard at being caught. Thankfully, he spared her a comment on her newest fascination._

_"Of course," Hermione commented with agitation. "But we can only keep it so quiet. We need people to actually carry out the attacks, but the lower levels think we're going out to gather supplies."_

_"I meant," Malfoy started, sighed, and his lips vanished under his teeth for a moment. "Maybe we shouldn't let Kingsley know."_

_Hermione was taken aback, suspicious. "Why not?"_

_"Well, his condition for one. You know he'll want to accompany us and I think he would be a nuisance," Malfoy confessed without a bit of sensitivity._

_"You're kidding."_

_"As much as I love to toss a high-brow joke above your bushy head, no I am not. I think we'd be better off not having to worry about whether or not he's okay."_

_Hermione tried not to snarl at his consistent sarcasm. "Malfoy, you do know he's going to be our Minister once this is all over, right?"_

_"More the reason to keep him here, where he can get better, don't you think?"_

_She paused, not wanting to agree. Her mouth was agape, ready to argue, but she couldn't really find one that would top his. Hermione wanted Kingsley to be as safe as possible. But she didn't like keeping things from him, not when he was one of the few people she trusted wholly._

_"I get it. You don't trust me," Malfoy muttered, frustration plain on his face as he shifted on her bed, jiggling her out of her thoughts._

_Hermione frowned, pulling her legs closer to herself. "No," she stopped, bit her lip. She could feel his gaze, waiting and she could feel herself waiting. Her mind reeling, reminding her of who she owed her life to. Her throat was tight against the words and her hands curled around her calves to keep them from roaming towards him as they craved to._

_"No, it's not that. It's not that."_

_"So you do trust me?" He prodded. Her averted eyes, keen on the wrinkles in her sheets, dared a glance up at him. The light made the gray of his eyes turn pure silver, a gleaming liquid that funneled into her and scooped out the words he needed, she needed to hear._

_"I have to, don't I?"_

_As she watched, that molten silver hardened and she felt more than saw Malfoy's weight lift off her bed as he roughly stood up. Yet, the cot felt heavier than ever without him._

_"No, you don't. I just want you to," Malfoy answered remotely. He took one last look at Hermione, at the unsure curve of her brow and the chaos that swirled in the brown of her iris._

_"Just consider what I said, Granger," were his parting words. And even after he'd left, Hermione couldn't bother to move her legs back into the place he'd occupied._

There was a rush of air as the tent flaps opened and interrupted Hermione's thoughts once more.

Without a second thought against it, a name flew out. "Malfoy?" she asked, her head snapping up to catch a puzzled Neville standing at the entrance to her quarters.

"No?" was his unsure reply. "Um, 'Mione, isn't it about time we started going, it's already six. Didn't Victor give the heads up yet?"

Hermione's embarrassment was evident in the speed in which she hopped off her bed and the stutter in her voice as she gathered her wand. "Of course, sorry. Yes. He did, we're good to go. Off, then," she muttered as she brushed past Neville and into the open. She didn't want to be alone with him any more than need be with the look he was giving her.

The air was stagnant and bitter against her face, slapping away any distractions that were swimming in her mind. It was time to leave, and the others who'd been assigned stood in wait for her. She made sure to avoid eye contact with Malfoy, who stood awkwardly detached from the main, usual group of Neville, Luna, George, and three other recruits Hermione had deemed trustworthy for the mission.

Without another word, just a simple nod on her part to assure everyone was there and ready, they apparated into the center of Sydney.

A distinct, muted pop was all that announced their arrival in a sliver of an alleyway. They were all quiet as Hermione mapped out in her mind their exact location, their routes already predetermined. They were just waiting for her to give the all clear.

And it never failed to disturb her how empty the streets now were. Her eyes swept over the area, a street that was meant to be swarming with human life now dismal and dead. The stores themselves that lined up against the road all informed Hermione that they were closed, with no promise of when they would open. The pubs were silent, no more slurred arguments or boasts of laughter. The sidewalks only company was a wandering crumpled piece of paper that drifted with the distant breeze.

Sydney was a corpse of a city, just another cemetery that the deatheaters kept heavy watch on.

Every once in a while, she would catch a glimpse of a moving curtain from the homes above the surrounding shops. Pale figures, distant from the sun, quickly hid behind the safety of that heavy cloth, not wanting to be seen or known to even exist. Some of these curtains blew in the wind, windows blasted open by intruders.

Magic, or no magic, these people were not leaving their houses in fear of their lives. And even the security of their homes would not save them.

Momentarily, Hermione's mind wandered. Her parents could easily be hidden behind those fluttering curtains. They could easily be just yards away from her.

"Everything alright?" Someone whispered behind her, making her skin tingle under the wave of breath that fell on her back. She blinked, focused, and decided not to look back at Malfoy.

"Yes. Tell the others to move."

"Like they'll listen to me," he muttered, sour, but even then he went about doing what she asked. The distant sound of retreating feet let her know her groups of three had dispersed. No one else had wanted to deal with Malfoy, so she'd agreed to take him. Apparently, she was the only one who felt any kind of "trust" besides Luna, who also remained.

This was it.

Her fingers finally grazed the surface of the other coins on her necklace, and they quickly chilled under her touch. The others would know to get ready now. When she came to Victor's, a distinctly bronze coin, it burned against her thumb.

They were on the move, which meant she needed to do the same.

"Let's go," she ordered quietly. Glancing back down the alley, she watched as Luna and Malfoy readied their wands and all three cast a disillusionment charm on themselves. The brevity of their invisibility had them racing as quietly as possible across the street to the targeted building: City Hall.

It was an unsuspecting establishment, camouflaged by its mundane cubic shape and plain shades of white that covered it. The only thing to notify strangers to its importance was the board stating "CITY HALL" plastered above the doorway. No doubt it was large in both height and width and administrative in nature, but it could have easily passed for a business.

Except, there were a few black figures sweeping back and forth in front of its steps, as if in guard: the first obstacle.

But they wouldn't be for long. There was a quiet whisper of two voices, the deatheaters' ears twitched and their bodies went rigid, and as they began to collapse, invisible arms grabbed and pulled them away. The first group had taken their prisoners.

This was Hermione's opening and she burst forth, knowing the other two in her group followed close behind. She went for the large doors and without caring to check if they were even locked, she demanded them to open under the point of her wand. It was either already unlocked, or they had relied too heavily on their guards, because it quickly submitted to her.

She opened one discreetly, the ice of her charmed bracelet telling her the second group had verified the first room to be empty- at least from what they saw through the windows. And it seemed they were right. She peered in, and was greeted with vacant entrance chairs and a cluster of dead flowers cowering over a vase on a glass table. There weren't any human forms, but she could hear in the distance the murmur of gathered deatheaters.

When she looked back to check behind her, the jarring features of Draco Malfoy's face overwhelmed her. And so, the charm had worn off, much to her shock.

He seemed to be smiling at the flustered state of her cheeks.

Toying with her even more, he put a finger to his lips before sliding past her in the doorway. Luna's visible form soon followed, acknowledging Hermione's red face with curiosity but thankfully keeping quiet about it.

She shook her head, trying to get everything in order before she entered the room. This was no time to think about Malfoy's cheekbones or the annoying strut of confidence in his step as he passed her.

No time at all.

Her bracelet was warm. They were ready. She needed to be ready.

Her hand strained tight against her wand as she closed the door behind her, creeping to where Luna was, opposite Malfoy at the doorway to the second room. The sound of people talking grew louder and, from the stern look on Malfoy's face, Hermione knew they were close.

She followed his gaze inside and in the shadows of the darkened meeting room, she saw the black wisps of cloaks move about. One in particular was pacing, and as her eyes rose to meet the face, her spine curled. Dolohov, skin pale as death and a deformed scowl that was permanent on his face, stormed about the room as the Carrow siblings watched in front of a group of followers. They seemed to be waiting for him to speak, and he wouldn't disappoint.

"The Dark Lord is impatient," he muttered harshly, snapping a dark look at Amycus as the other deatheater opened his cracked lips to speak. He quickly shut them.

"He's not even around anymore," Amycus's sister, Alecto, interrupted anyway; her shrill voice grating on Hermione's ears.

"Is it true, that the wand is-"

"SHUT IT," Dolohov hissed, glaring once more at the Carrows, who snarled right back at him even as their bodies cowered away. "Have you not learned? You do not doubt your master. Whispers spread, my comrades. And when he does return, my head will not be served on a platter because of your insolence."

There was a brush of blonde out of the corner of her eye and Hermione caught Malfoy trying to signal her, the scowl of failure on his face vanishing once she'd noticed him. He jut his chin past the targets, to the window behind them, and as if reading his mind, her bracelet heated even more so than usual.

In a haze of a moment, there was a loud clash and the back window behind the meeting blasted glass everywhere. Deatheaters began to run for the exit, wands aimed at a redheaded George as he came barreling through the opened window, followed by those in his and Neville's group. Those that tried for the doorway met Malfoy, Hermione, and Luna as they sprung up from their spots to attack.

There was a rain of green, flashes of red and purple stinging her eyes as she moved to take down members that tried to get away, or attack. She lost track of who was where, her attention honed on finding Dolohov, who'd disappeared from view the second of the blast.

Hermione hopped over a body, stumbling over an arm that lay limp against the concrete floor. There was the distinct smell of burnt hair and flesh, but she refused to look for the source as she rushed through the clusters, the small outbreaks of fights that surrounded her. She was turning into other rooms, where more soldiers clashed heads, and finally in one she spotted the dark, stringy strands of Antonin Dolohov.

He still made her skin crawl, the sneer that consumed his face reminded her too clearly of the attack at the Department of Mystery, the attack at the café. Both times, he'd aimed to kill her and without an ounce of regret. But, of course, who was to expect regret from a deatheater?

She swallowed the acidic taste of hatred that filled her throat, watching as Dolohov fought against one of her own. A flicker of blonde was all it took to realize who it was. And since the hair was far too short to be Luna's, and reflexes far too aggressive, it had to be Malfoy. And the fight was tense, a sharp angle to both of their features as they shot and dodged each other's curses. Again, Hermione found herself confused, at odds with her feelings as she watched a man she'd taught herself to hate fight to protect and preserve the rebellion, and her, ideals.

Hermione Granger was finding herself speechless, once again with Malfoy as the cause.

There was a distracting thud beside her and she hopped away from the deatheater- a Carrow- falling to the ground. Neville was standing above the body, his wand still poised in case the witch wasn't completely paralyzed. It turned out, Alecto's curse had rebounded.

She was dead.

Neville showed no hesitation before sprinting off to help the others, leaving Hermione to deal with the few other, less confident deatheaters that filled the room. It didn't take long for her to take them down, some paralyzed from her shots, some dead from their own. Leaving less and less in the way of her and the main target.

She was just finishing off a lower rank when she noticed a movement in the shadows. There was a small boy, frail and for all the world looking like he belonged in the security of Hogwarts. Not here in the midst of a battle. But his sleeves cropped short showed the marking of a deatheater, a cursed tattoo of a skull that should have scared him witless. And he did look unnerved, the hand that held his wand shaking erratically as he rose it. He was pointing it at someone, though he didn't look at all ready to shoot.

She followed his unsure, hollowed eyes, and realized with a sinking feeling who he was aiming for.

Malfoy's face was scrunched in concentration, small clusters of his blonde locks stuck to his forehead as he fought off green bolts that came at him.

But she didn't see this face, not really. Her heart was in her throat, screaming there, and her vision went white as his skin and then there he was, so much like he was just then, fighting against someone that she couldn't see. But he was so much younger, and his face so much less composed. He looked near tears. He was that small boy, frail and unsure. Afraid.

"Draco!" She shouted and the man she'd hated turned to look at her, confused as the ray of green came at him from his blindside, slashing him in the chest just as Dolohov gave a blow of his own.

And then he was falling, and she was being pulled with him.

Her blood was pulsing in her ears as she struck her wand harshly through the air, sending both Dolohov and the unknown boy through the air and knocking them into the opposite wall. She was racing through molasses, seeing not with her eyes but with her mind the small boy that had been Draco Malfoy in school.

_He was on the floor, bleeding as water rushed all around him. She was screaming his name, and her vision was flooded with tears. Everything shook as she ran towards him, falling beside him and grabbing at him. He wasn't responding to her calls, he had his eyes squeezed shut against the pain, and she was looking helplessly at the trails of gashes all over his body._

_She barely realized Snape was standing behind her, demanding her to leave._

_"Draco? Draco, please. Look at me. Please," she sobbed, desperate as Snape grabbed her arms and pulled her up and away from his student. His eyes were heavy when they landed on her before turning back to Malfoy, his wand already moving gracefully to heal the wounds her own friend had inflicted._

_But she couldn't leave._

_She needed to see his eyes open. She needed to see him give her that ridiculous, obnoxious, egotistical smile of his that was always followed with some stupid remark about her face._

_But he wouldn't even say her name._

"Malfoy?" She called, heaving as she slide over to the crippled form on the floor, trying hard not to fall into hysterics as she took him in. There was no blood covering his body, no water on the floor, no indications of the bathroom she'd seen so vividly. There was concrete beneath her legs, and his body was clean. His eyes, though, were just as sealed shut.

Her hands hovered for a moment, rattling in the air in fear, before clutching onto his shoulders. Hermione pulled him onto her lap, hands rushing over his chest to check for a heartbeat, anything. She didn't feel anything. She pressed her ear to it, but she couldn't hear anything past her own racing pulse as it howled inside of her. She was having a hard time breathing, unreasonably so. She was drowning again, and that gray dream was threatening to enter her reality and swallow her whole.

"Say something, damn it," she heaved, her voice shaking just as badly as her hands.

It didn't even pass her thoughts that others might be watching.

"…hair," came a distant groan, suppressed under her heavy breathing. She jumped in her skin, looking up to see Malfoy flinch when her hands pressed too roughly against his chest.

"Your hair isn't something I'd like in my mouth, Granger," he coughed heavily and the nervous laugh she'd bottled up inside came flooding out. Without consent, her hands were reaching for his face.

She was doing a lot of things without her own consent. A stranger in her body, Malfoy was a puppeteer, unknowingly conducting her every move.

Malfoy was starting to register everything, and a look of pure confusion came over him as he watched Hermione's relieved face smile down at him.

"You tried to save me," he murmured, almost afraid to say it. Her smile froze as she looked at him, really looked at him. His face was covered in small cuts from the glass he'd fallen on, little dashes of blood bright against the pale complexion of his skin. His eyes were watching her watch him, that same silver gray that appeared behind her eyelids when she fell asleep.

"You deserve to be saved," she replied cautiously, swallowing hard against the sand collecting in her throat as Malfoy's eyes hardened, determined. There was a burning on her hand as his own grabbed at it before it could escape the home it'd made on his cheek, a heaviness on her shoulders as he sat up; too close to her. And then she feared for her life, more than she would if Voldemort himself stood pointing a wand at her head and the kiss of death ready to be delivered. Because she knew now more than ever that the scenes between them that haunted her were not dreams. They were not figments of her poor imagination. They were memories, but from when she didn't know, and she didn't want to know.

It scared her so much, she couldn't find her heart where it should have been in its cage. It had freed itself, and it was running away from her.

And the only warning she was given was the sigh of pleasure from that wild heart as Malfoy's lips imprisoned her own.

A/N: (keep forgetting about these!) So, hope you are enjoying thus far, and I just wanted to report a itty bitty hiccup on my part: George Weasley is the one accompanying Hermione's group in Australia, not Fred. This may seem unimportant but it's my way of saying everyone that died before "The Forest Again" is still dead. So, unfortunately, Fred is no longer with us, and I didn't want a corpse running around in my fanfic.

Anywho! That aside, please let me know what you think! I personally thought this chapter was choppy, and I might go back and fix it a bit... but I might be too lazy. Whoops.


	13. Chapter 13

She was consumed in a fire that sparked on her lips and spread out wild against her skin.

Hermione was shell-shocked, overwhelming sensations taking over her body and leaving her mind miles behind the rest of her. Her heart was stuttering, no longer able to keep up with what it had desired only moments before; it's secret out in the open when it wasn't ready to be told. And the roar in her blood as it boiled and spewed like lava through her veins, heating her fast and hard, muted the sounds of havoc that surrounded them. And, despite the heaviness of her heart and her body, she couldn't feel the reality of the ground beneath her or the soot clinging to her palms. The only pull she felt was of Malfoy's hand, nestled in the depths of her curls, strong in its demand to keep her there as his lips gained knowledge of hers.

And they didn't take long to discover every dip, every solitary ripple in the thin skin that kept him from diving into her bloodstream.

The force, the urgency of his kiss shattered her bones and revealed what was caged inside: a soul that longed to return this, whatever it was. And she did, because God he tasted like home. He tasted like home and she'd been without it for so long that she couldn't control her own urgency. Her hands were on him, clutching the deep-set sides of his cheeks and stroking them as if to imprint them in her deprived mind. Her lips replied to his demands, pressing hard against his and trying with all their might to drink him in, to take in every sensation his being provided her with.

Because, this was a stolen moment. And she relished it, not even daring to pull away for air.

And like that, it was over. An ember stomped out as rushing feet threatened to destroy their peculiar oasis in the middle of chaos. She yanked herself away, hair carelessly pulled out of its bun as long, determined fingers tried to keep their clutch on it.

In a gulp, Hermione took in all the oxygen she could, trying to clear up the steam in her mind- only to come up even more lightheaded. Everything was a bit of a blur for a moment, her Olympian heart pulsing loud in her ears and almost hushing the stampede of Order members that entered unknowing to the exchange they'd interrupted.

"Two more, over here," Neville called back to the others before rushing over to Hermione and Malfoy, who to any oblivious eye looked like they'd been trying to help one another off the ground. And, of course, Neville was oblivious.

"Hey, you okay? You look sick," Neville huffed as he held out a hand to help Hermione up. She could feel herself growing pale with each passing second, her fire's fuel shutting off completely and leaving in its absence a dull lull of emptiness.

She blinked, trying to get her head together, while avoiding looking at Malfoy at all costs.

"Yeah, just a little lightheaded. It's Malfoy that needs a little help," she brushed off as casually as she could, her voice shaky.

If she weren't trying so hard not to pay attention to Malfoy, she would have sworn she heard him hiss.

"No, I'm fine. Don't bother, Longbottom," he grunted, and finally she anxiously glanced back.

"You just got shot! And with what, I don't know," Hermione prattled on, flustered as Malfoy pulled himself up off of the ground while brushing off his jeans.

When he caught her gaze, she regretted speaking. His eyes simmered, scorching her skin, before dying down into the cool gray she was used to or, rather, preferred.

He nodded towards the unconscious boy, still lying against the opposite wall since the others were dealing with securing Dolohov.

"Well, I do and it was the killing curse. The boy didn't have it in him to do it right, though," he remarked with a humorless smile. "He must be new." And the heaviness that bore down on his words made his smile ever more startling, unnerving.

She was looking at him, truly seeing once more the lines on his face that had been engraving themselves there since his father had been imprisoned, the shadows under his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks growing into a darkness she could never fully comprehend. She was a child of the light, and he'd been bathed in the night.

How many had he killed in those months under Voldemort's watch? He'd been new once, but she knew if he raised his wand at her that very moment and uttered those two unforgivable words, she would be dead in an instant. He knew how to deliver death's blow, so how many had fallen because of this? And did they follow him now, clinging to the skin on his face, dragging them to make the weary lines she now saw and grieved over?

He caught her once more staring, and she turned her eyes to the boy Neville was now trying to wake up. And she saw in that boy everything Malfoy had been, and hoped that maybe there was hope for this one yet. That there was hope for the boy, the man beside her.

Her lips tasted tainted with the tang of blood.

* * *

With a spoon and a bowl of soup in front of him instead of a wand, the boy, Blake, was no longer a child soldier. He had just turned sixteen that year and had been immediately initiated by his parents into the ranks. There was a way to how he held himself, stealthily hiding the mark that stamped him as the enemy by folding his arms or sheltering it around the bowl itself even though the pool of a sweater George lent him covered it.

"Harmless, isn't it?" Luna asked lightly as she sat down beside Hermione at her table. She was used to Luna's random outbursts by now and didn't even bother looking over as greeting. She sighed, turning her spoon around in her own soup that had, by then, grown cold. It was also a disturbing gray color that instantly dissolved her appetite.

"I guess so. He doesn't seem comfortable, though," Hermione remarked lamely, peering over every once in a while to watch Blake's rigid body become even more so as Order members rustled about the kitchen tent. Most of them were indifferent to his presence, informed on how the interrogations had gone only hours ago. It was common knowledge that he was to be accepted as one of them now that he'd gotten away from the deatheaters, though some were on site as prisoners of war.

"He? Flowers are asexual, Hermione," was the strange reply to which Hermione finally turned her head. The confusion on her face faded the instant she caught sight of the pot Luna was holding in place of food. Inside of it stood a stronger, vividly colored version of the Vagus Luna had recovered only days ago. The bleak petals were still so towards the core of the flower, but the outer edges had turned a bright pink that almost hurt Hermione's retinas after all the shades of gray she'd been accustomed to.

"You're good at healing things, Luna. I'll give you that," Hermione commented, observing as the flower leaned into Luna's index finger as it moved closer to its stem. "But, shouldn't it have left by now?"

Luna shrugged, petting the delicate petals with the soft tips of her fingers. "Yes, but, it doesn't want to. I even went so far as to take it out of the pot, but it clung to the dirt with those tiny roots of its. It seemed… very determined to stay. I'd like to think it fancies me," she admitted with a distant smile.

"Oh," Hermione absently responded, nodding awkwardly as she slowly gave her attention back to the soup, and the newest member of her group.

"He looks harmless too. Who is he?"

Hermione felt her heart clench. "Just a boy."

"We were all that at some point, boys and girls. Now look at us," Hermione continued, muttering sourly at the roughness of everything. Her skin, her face, her trust, her beliefs, all jaded before their time. Grown up before her time.

"I'm looking, and I don't see anything wrong," Luna replied calmly, watching Hermione's face as her frown grew. "There's a beauty in hardship, Hermione. I can see it in your eyes."

"There's nothing beautiful about being worn down, Luna," she scoffed, churning her soup instead of acknowledging how uncomfortable she felt.

"I beg to differ. It shows we survive. You can't expect to pull through a rebellion and be the same as before. And that's not a bad thing. People change, war or no war, for the worse but also for the better. Try not to forget that- Oh, I forgot why I came in here to begin with," Luna rambled, unsettling Hermione further. She forced herself to glance back at the other witch, who was trying to apparently remember the real reason she was here.

And here, she'd thought it was for Luna to preach.

"Oh! Kingsley," the name instantly caught Hermione's attention and her head shot up. "He's insisted I take a break from watching over him and now he wants to see you."

Oh, boy.

Hermione swallowed down the clumps of gunk from her soup and gave Luna a nod; it was more to assure herself than anything else. She pushed away the bowl and got up, not saying a word as she left because she wasn't sure she'd be very comprehensible.

Kingsley had found out. It was inevitable, but she still dreaded his reaction.

She trudged through the camp, watching a specific tent's light flicker in strength. The closer she got to it, the more vengeful the lamp's fire seemed to get, raging against the tent sheets, trying to get at her. Of course, that was just her mind playing tricks on her. Her guilty conscious having a go, reminding her of a kiss she shouldn't have given, and orders she shouldn't have hid.

All because of one man, one annoying, misguiding, unintelligible fool who loved to eat at her reputation bit by bit.

And that was the clashing thoughts and emotions that fueled her as she stepped into Kingsley's quarters and realized there was another occupant, tale and strikingly blonde and pale. For once, he did not greet her with a knowing sneer.

He was looking paler than usual.

"Miss Granger. Finally, you've managed to find my tent," Kingsley boomed rather harshly, yanking Hermione's attention away from the haunting look on Malfoy's face to the turmoil Kingsley's possessed. She felt her own blood drain out.

She had to remind herself that she was the leader of this group, that she was the one in charge. But under his fierce stare, it was hard to assert herself.

"I'm sorry, Luna became sidetracked," feeble, she wanted to leave.

As if he never heard her, he went on. "You've went behind my back, without so much as an utter my way as to what was to happen. Pardon, I will take that back. I was told you were going out for 'supplies'. I was never informed that those 'supplies' were deatheaters," Kingsley nailed both Hermione and Malfoy to their crucifixes.

"It was a precautionary measure, sir. We were trying to avoid putting you in danger-"

"And so, instead, you put nine people in danger without consulting me," he charged, his eyes pinning her in place.

Malfoy remained silent.

Hermione gaffed, stammered, and tried to find her footing. "But, Kingsley, we discussed enough in previous meetings. It shouldn't matter when-"

"But it does! Granger, it does! How are we to know that was everyone in the area? They should have been under surveillance for longer, to map out their patterns, before attacking to ensure nothing was missed!"

She blinked, balling her hands at her sides to keep them from shaking. "But, it worked. We got them," she muttered defiantly. "No one was hurt, we got in, we got out. And according to the reports, the amount of targets present matched the general count."

He just shook his head, his own body giving out and he fell back onto his bed. He looked worse for wear, and Hermione wondered how Luna could have even thought of taking leave from nursing. His scars were reopening.

"I misjudged your leadership."

And now, hers were reopening too. A bitter taste filled her mouth. She stood there, unsure of herself as the room filled with a silence thick with wretched disappointment and useless, unheard excuses. Her mind couldn't find any that could fight back against her idol.

"You may go," he sighed, not even looking up as he dismissed her, Malfoy too no doubt. She could care less. He'd just stood there, a lame duck. But why would she expect him to stand up for her?

She shouldn't expect anything from him. She had only herself to depend on.

And so, she turned with as much dignity as she could summon and left. Her feet guided her to her own shelter, unaware of the feet that were following close behind.

The sting of tears threatened and warned her, made her move faster and she threw herself into her room, only to finally hear the sound of a wand flicking through the air.

"Get out," she hissed as she whipped around, already knowing that scent, that presence that haunted her every moment. "Get out." Teeth bared, but she didn't look a bit threatening did she? She could feel the blood rush to her cheeks and nose, turning them ripe with rage and that weak sadness she'd fought back for so long.

Malfoy's face was solemn as he drew back his wand, sliding it into his pocket. "Go on, get it out," he muttered.

"Get what out? What did you do?" She snapped, glaring at him as harshly as she could muster past the wetness in her eyes.

"Silence charm, now you can yell all you need. I know you do," he admitted with a shrug, his eyes never leaving hers. He looked so tired, the bags under his eyes just as pronounced as her own. But she didn't give a damn.

"How dare you, how dare you come in here like the coward that you are and tell me it's okay to yell at you now? Now? Oh, no, don't bother speaking as Kingsley tears into me for actually following your suggestion," she heaved, already in hysterics. She hated how affected she was by his presence. His very being set her on edge, and she was already teetering.

"I'm sorry," was his ridiculously calm response. Her nostrils flared fiercely, only bringing in more of his intoxicating scent.

She hated him.

"Fuck you," she spat violently. "You _apologize_? Because that fixes everything, right? Though, really, why should I have expected you to come to my defense?" She laughed, delirious in her unreasonable anger. She shouldn't be this bothered by his apathy. This was Malfoy, she tried to remind herself. This was Malfoy, this was what he did.

"I couldn't," he mustered to say, his Adam's apple pathetic as it willed something in his throat to go down. He wasn't looking at her anymore. His eyes were digging a hole in the ground, possibly his own grave.

Hermione laughed again. "Shocker. You're too weak. You didn't want to own up to anything, shock. Shock, shock. I'm astounded. Why didn't I see it coming?" She shot sarcastically.

His head was up in a flash, a heat melting his irises, making them stir- making her stir and she caught herself before she could go on with her accusations. He was glaring so intensely, but it held more than hostility.

It struggled to hide something.

"Don't mock me, Granger. I'm trying to do right by you, as little as it might be. Don't spit on my apologies. They don't come frequently," he simmered, a warning. She didn't take it lightly.

"Oh, so I'm supposed to feel blessed? I owe you nothing, Malfoy."

"I saved your li-"

"And I yours! Bravo, you were a hero for a day. But for what, Malfoy? What ulterior motives do you have hiding underneath that sneer of yours, hmm?" She pressed on, her feet pulling her forth without consensus.

A low growl rolled through him and she could see she was pressing all the wrong buttons. She liked it. It made her smile.

"I don't need ulterior motives. I'm a human being, and I was just trying to help," he snarled, his entire body growing more and more rigid with pent-up anger.

She wanted to see him burst. She wanted to see him fall apart, as she was so prone to do around him.

"Well, you're not doing so great of a job, Malfoy. I'd suggest you just stop," she bit back, a humorless smile playing on the tips of her lips.

_Snap._

He was upon her, towering over her frame and blowing heated breaths against her face as she looked up with matching burning rage.

"So you want me to stop being human? You want me to hate you with every fiber of my being, just to make it easy for you to hate me back? You want me to stop having a heart that beats, to stop craving some kind of compassion from others? Is that what you want? You want me to just _stop_?"

She wavered, her humanity silently fighting against that fire that was searing into her brain. She grit her teeth, determined.

"Get away from me or, I swear, I'll hurt you," she forced out between clenched teeth. The glisten of her backed up tears blurred his face, softened the roughness of his bones, made him look like a boy again. But he was a man, and men were dangerous.

He was dangerous, to be so close.

"Go on then," he breathed, heavy smoke in his words as they hit her face. "Hurt me. Give it all you got, Granger."

They stood there, a thread filled with seething rage between them, and yet she couldn't raise her hands, point her wand. She couldn't hurt him, despite the demands roaring in her head.

She glared at him, frustrated with herself.

"What?" He asked, mock surprise in his voice. "Too much of a coward? Or do you have trouble fighting someone you just kissed?"

Her fists went flying on their own accord, aiming for that blur of a face that came into defining clarity when she needed it most. One small fist hit its mark, she could feel it in the pangs of her knuckles as they slammed against his cheek.

But when the other went to give a match on the other cheek, hands seized control of her wrists. They tightened, sealing her in, caging her.

And he was pulling her by the arms, and she was yanked against his body, and his lips were clashing angrily with hers, and she was losing herself.

Those same hands that imprisoned hers were on her hips, imprinting her everything into his entity, and she didn't feel a need to pull away. Those same hands that swung at him were now clinging to him, grabbing handfuls of his smooth locks as the deprived clenched at hope. She was kissing him hungrily, the fight silent in the attacks of their lips and the strategy behind the moves in his hands.

They were starved, running up and down the length of her body, each part of her screaming at his touch. They were in her hair and on her thighs, grabbing at her rib cage hard enough to break them and release her from her prison. They were on her torso, her curves, searing onto them, clawing at them, making beautiful scars on her hips.

Her own hands were moving with abandon, discarding her mind and running around like madmen on his body. She tried to pull away, her palms streaming down his chest, pushing him into the supporting pole of her tent, relishing in the clench of his muscles beneath her fingertips. She was sneaking under his shirt, and her skin flared against his, and they both cried into the other's mouths.

Tongues flew, clashed together in a duel of passion and the taste of him was divine.

He was pulling her close again, their bodies molded into one, steaming against the other so audibly that it was a blessing the charm hushed the tent to others. There was a fire, and no one but them knew about it.

She could feel everything against her curves, every move of his body becoming a move of her own, and she felt his deep pleasure pressed against her thighs. Her own pooled between her legs, a barely contained wildfire that ate away at the forest of thought she kept to protect herself against these attacks.

Her entire body was under attack, and Malfoy was the invader.

Hermione tore her lips away from his, and both of them were gasping. He pressed his forehead to hers, frustration in the arch of his brow but a smile of relief and passion on his face. She tried to think, closing her eyes to focus on her thoughts only to realize her other senses had peaked. Everything felt much more intimate.

She was trying to clear the steam in her mind as Malfoy's hand cradled her neck and arched it back for another kiss. She pushed against him.

"Stop," she heaved and the groan that followed was no shock. "Stop," she repeated in case he tried to take advantage of the pause. She was trying to remember something that was prickling at the back of her head. There was something, someone she was supposed to be keeping in mind… but it was melting, tricklingaway from her conscious; Malfoy's hands rubbing so persuasively over her skin as one slid beneath the protection of her shirt and grazed her burning skin. The steam was growing heavy, making everything so much harder to focus in on- except for his touch.

"Don't tell me you don't want this," he breathed heavy against her neck, planting too sweet kisses on the supple flesh there.

Her heart was stuttering, forgetting itself. She was forgetting herself.

She couldn't even form words, only barely audible sounds of bliss as Malfoy's hands and lips worked their way into her soul.

"Just say the word, and I'll stop," he murmured, his voice rough against her jaw as his devilish lips traced the delicate lines of her face, kissing and nibbling to his heart's content. She was trying, her mouth moving, letters forming in her throat, only to fizzle out on her lonely tongue.

"What word?" She sighed, and then his lips devoured her, his body reacting with such vigor she could barely keep up.

She was turned around, her body hissed against the coolness of the pole, but singing all the while as he eased her legs apart, yanking them up against his pelvis where they clung so naturally. Their bodies melded perfectly with him nestled between her legs, and his chest fusing with her own with hands stripping off layers of each other. Her shirt was gone, lost in the haze as he roamed once more over her body, only to pause as she yanked his T-shirt off.

Soon, it was only their indestructible flesh separating them from one another, but the way with which they clung to one another, with which their fingers tore at the flesh on each other's hips and shoulders, it was clear they wanted nothing more than to destroy that barrier.

But, the closest they came to breaking it down was when he sunk into her, exhorting a cry from their entwined bodies and lips so piercing, it meant to shatter glass.

And they found themselves on her small, dismal bed, but without a care in the world as he dove into her depths. And she found herself hating him less and less with each stroke, her body unable to deny the desire, the hunger that only he could satiate, her whole unable to deny the way they fit together.

She couldn't hate him with the kisses he bestowed upon her body so forcefully and so reverently, the touches his hands imprinted onto her bones, the moans her own caresses would elicit. She couldn't hate him.

But, damn it, she hated him for the feelings he rose up in her wave after wave, crashing against her sensibility and knocking out all the wrongs she knew this was filled with.

She hated him.

And so, when the last cries and moans had faded into sleep, she remembered herself and crept out into the darkness of the early morning to escape her fate.


	14. Chapter 14

Hell blast, that's what the group had taken to calling the morning weather in Australia. Hell blast; it bit at her face and turned her cheeks bright against the pallor of her skin. Hell blast, a slash of livid ice just before the sun rose and fought with the clouds, a clash of red against the bleak grays of war. It was a wake up call to everything that was around them, it made people realize with clarity any dangers that lurked out in the woods as the rest slept until daybreak. It was not a bulldozing wind, but the lack of it. It was the sharp stillness of the cold that made every other moving creature stand out strange against the landscape, vulnerable. Hell blast, because here there was no saving grace and this reality crashed into those crazy enough to be awake.

Hermione had just relieved a lower level of this burden and he had no difficulty leaving his post to her.

She stood rigid as the forest of frost that encircled her campsite; that kept her from running full force into the outback and losing herself there. Because, behind her lay her campsite, her tent, her mistake. Her mistake was in her bed, sleeping even as she slipped from beneath his heavy arm and grabbed whatever clothes she could before leaving. Because she couldn't stay there. She couldn't sleep next to that person, trying through opaque dreams to delay the consequences of breaking. She couldn't forget that other name she'd so conveniently discarded for Draco Malfoy's. And, she couldn't forget herself.

And so she stood on the cusp of dawn, heaving out flares of smoke and clutching her sweater tight around her too warm body. She allowed the hell blast to take her and cool down her bloodstream, to bring all those feelings to a numbness, to leave her mind some peace to think and to see. But all she could see were trees, and they provided her with no solace. She saw the browning grass and the crumpled leaves that had shed off the trees as quickly as her own clothes had the night before. They were dying, not just from this bitter cold but because it was what was expected. The trees were going to sleep, and the greenery was fading away for the winter even if it was coming early. In them she saw nothing but an eerie tranquility and resignation she had no desire to achieve.

And her mind, for once in her life, was utterly mute. The hurling panic she'd felt lying down beside Malfoy was gone, vanquished by the cold, and it left in its wake a quiet. She couldn't find those screeching accusations she'd flung out the drawers of her thoughts anymore. There was no more name-calling; no more lists of why it, or he, was wrong. But there weren't any lists of why they were right either. Everything was silent, still. Because this was the time for dreaming, and she was too busy trying to stay awake.

But when she made to bury herself deeper into her sweater, eyes shut, a familiar warmth washed over her senses and the night ghosted over her body. She felt gentle hands, stroking the dip of her subtle curves only to clasp them firm in his hold as his body filled hers, pressed into hers, breeching that barrier she'd placed so firmly between them. She smelled his cravings and tasted his skin. She heard him call out to her, but she never knew what. She only heard the sound of his voice and how it evoked the essence of spring in her body, waking up every nerve ending and spreading a heat so strong it sparked flames in her veins.

There was the yearning inside her, as he wound her up as he always did but this time it had been so different. They weren't fighting with words anymore, but with their bodies. And she hadn't minded it so much as she should have. She hadn't minded a lot.

Hermione forced her eyes openand breathed in sharply. The air stung her nostrils and cleansed them of his aroma. And she tried, from watching the trees and feeling the cold once more, to withdraw from herself. But she couldn't. There was the strange muddled pink of morning light, and already the cold was starting to become less hostile. Her heart was pounding fast against that damned sweater she was tempted to tear off, the pulse in her neck reminding her so disastrously of the rhythm with which they had moved together.

No matter how she tried to erase the emotions, to clear her head, she was left with her body. And she felt like a stranger in this body, simply following the phantom of movements and desires it assumed as truths.

The wall she wanted so desperately to rebuild was forming inside of her, severing her into two beings and she had no way of reconciling them.

This wasn't exactly the conclusion she wanted to end up with by getting a bit of fresh air but she let it fill her head as she watched the dim light creep up and narrow the shadows of the forest. The smoke cleared from her breath gradually, and despite not sleeping a wink she was wide-awake. But she didn't feel a wink alive.

"Miss… Pardon me, Miss … Um, sorry, Hermione Granger?" A stammering voice from behind called, just above a whisper. Hermione turned slightly, not so much startled but mystified by someone coming to get her.

"Is my shift up so soon?" She asked, before fully taking in her visitor. It was Blake. He was still in George's sweater, the sleeves just right for the tall, stretched out limbs that so marked the strange growth of an adolescent boy. He was awkwardly standing a few feet away from her, as if he was afraid of scaring her. Or maybe, he was afraid of her. She hoped not.

She tried her best to give a smile. "Blake, right?" She knew it was his name. But, by the shock in his widened childlike eyes, she knew he didn't think she would. And then there was a smile in return to hers.

"Yes, ma'am," he quickly replied, still with a smile as he nodded. Oh god, she was a ma'am. Were her wrinkles that prominent?

"Oh, please, no. I'm no ma'am. I'm Hermione. Just Hermione. No need for the Miss either, just so you know," she chuckled, feeling a tingle of warmth in her laugh.

"Sorry, sorry, Hermione then," he corrected, and a silence fell between them. It wasn't uncomfortable, but she found herself shifting from foot to foot, growing restless now that her trance had been broken. He was tugging at his sleeves.

"Well, uh, not to disrupt your thinking but Mister Weasley, er, George wanted me to fetch you," he admitted finally. She frowned.

"Why?" She asked, though she was already starting to move with Blake following not so far behind her speedy steps. In fact, his long legs guided him to her side with ease.

"Well, he said it had to do with the strike yesterday, but some of the others didn't want him to tell me any more," he mumbled. Her frown deepened for a moment, but still that sincerity of warmth crept back into her as she peered over at him, a distant look of comfort in his blue eyes as he spoke of his new companion. She could tell he was quickly becoming attached to George and George to him.

For a while, her dear Weasley had been without a companion, as they all had but it was different with him. He'd lost more than a friend or a brother. It had been his other half. His parents still worried about him, Ron before he started having fits against Malfoy would always talk to Hermione about missing George almost as much as he missed Fred. Because it was like George had died too that day, and only recently had he started coming back with the help of Ginny. And now, with Blake. And even though this boy was no Fred and he seemed timid, she hoped George's humor would come back in full again with his help. They all needed the laughs his jokes provided now more than ever.

"They'll warm up to you, it just takes a while to trust someone now," Hermione remarked, though the moment she said it her throat clenched against needles. She was being a hypocrite, but the boy didn't know that. At least, not yet.

"I know. I was surprised George let me hang around him so much yesterday right after... I didn't want to be alone, not with the people in custody." As she watched him, his sun-kissed skin grew pale- almost enough to match her own.

And there a deep sadness in her gut. Because this boy shouldn't have had to fear anything at his age. None of them did, but this was the hand they were dealt. And she was going to try to take the burden off his shoulders for as long as possible.

"They won't get to you. They won't, promise." She stopped him, holding onto his thin arm that was surprisingly warm for the cold weather. He may have been touched by darkness but, despite the fear in his eyes, it had yet to seep into him. He didn't have the lines of weariness, not yet. Maybe he was right in calling her "ma'am." They probably looked decades apart.

But he wasn't looking at her like an old woman and, when he gave another nod of understanding, he trusted her as, she hoped, a friend would.

"I know."

"Good. Now, do me a favor?" He nodded so eagerly that she couldn't help but laugh. "Go eat breakfast, okay? I can feel your bones," she joked, even though as she playfully pressed down on his arm she did very easily feel every bone and connecting tissue.

And with that, he was off with a little smile and a gangly stride. And it left her alone. And thoughts began to creep up on her. But, before they could form more than ominous feelings, she moved into the tent behind her where the familiar voices assured her mind that it would be too congested to think of useless things.

But she was drastically wrong. It didn't take her more than five seconds inside to figure that one out.

Everyone was huffing, except George. His back was leaning casually against the corner post of the tent, a watered down version of a grin on his face as he watched the others in their group grumble in a cluster at the table. When Hermione entered, his eyes quickly found hers and that faint smile was gone.

"Guess who's trying to pay us back?" Was all he had to say.

See, five seconds.

"We didn't get them all," she sighed, Kingsley's words haunting her. For such a know-it-all, she was getting everything wrong.

Another headache. She was going to have to talk to Neville later about making something easy and quick for these constant attacks.

"It's not even that. I'm sure we didn't, but I'm sure it's also reinforcements. We got a letter from Viktor as well, but of course it's sealed," someone said. The person didn't matter, because the only name she could register was the one she didn't want to hear. She clenched her jaw, feeling queasy for a moment.

"I'm sure it has to do with the same thing. I'll open it later," she muttered as she approached the table, nudging aside the letter someone was handing her. She briefly recognized the hand, but it didn't matter. "What exactly is going on? It's barely been a day."

A loud silence.

She glanced up from the splintering wood of the table. Everyone's eyes were downcast, except for one. George was staring at her again, knowing.

"They've been attacking the muggles, probably because they don't know where we are. They're waiting for us to show our faces again."

Her blood ran cold, her eyes searching George's and in them she saw that fear of loss he would never truly get over. As she wouldn't, as anyone who lost something dear wouldn't. But it was there for her. It was there, because "muggles" was more than just a term for the non-magic for her.

She was trying to breathe normally but it was as if she was clinging onto herself, onto her own throat just to keep from falling.

"Where?" She managed to say. The solemn weight in the room was too heavy, and her question sounded too quiet to make it through to him. But somehow, he heard it.

"Right now? Just Sydney. They haven't hit us yet." But it wasn't "us" either of them were worrying about.

She forced a nod, breaking the communication by glancing down at the map sprawled over the table. This time, it was of Australia, with the positions of attacks pinpointed. She imagined the needle stabbing the house her parents were in, and her blood was ice, hell blasted.

"If they want to see our faces, we should show them then, right?" She heard herself say. "We obviously won't stand by as they attack innocents, and that's what they expect. Let's not disappoint."

* * *

But it wasn't her face she saw in the mirror later that day when she returned to her, thankfully, empty tent. With finality, she placed her wand back in her pocket without tearing her eyes off the face that looked back at her. It was a strange one to say the least, once rounded cheekbones and chin sharpened. Freckles gone, wiped off and lips thinned. The hair that fell around this stranger's face? Black and flattened, the bounce of her brown curls vanquished for the day. For once, she looked the stranger she felt her body to be.

She'd left her eyes, just to remind herself she was there.

"Okay," she assured herself, her hand curling around the piece of parchment she'd refused to open until now. Viktor's writing seemed to slip through the paper-thin divide and into her skin, invigorating her frozen joints. She stood up, she adjusted her clothes, she moved, and left her tent. She walked through camp; she left camp under the pretense of doing more spy work on the targets before they were to attack tomorrow.

She moved her legs, one after the other, her mind having already memorized the words on the paper in her hand. They led her through the woods, and once she was far enough away, she took a deep breath and apparated.

Her body cringed momentarily, her insides twisted backwards and forwards even after she'd settled her feet back onto solid ground. Every part of her felt sick as she automatically pressed herself against the wall of a building, the same alleyway she'd apparated into only yesterday. There was a hint of smoke in the air, the smell of burnt wood nudging at her nose before she even went to take a look outside into the streets.

When she did, she just felt worse.

The building she'd peered at just yesterday was in shambles, the ones plastered in a row on either side of it charred and worse for wear too. The window she'd glimpsed into was gone. The entire floor was gone. Only the skeleton of it remained, and even that was broken, pipes and steel wire bending over in submission. There was no sign of life. A few doors down, another wreckage. When she stepped out into the abandoned street, she realized the wall she'd clung to was just that: a wall, bare and without anything to hide anymore besides her.

Hermione clenched her hands, shoving them into her pockets as she kept moving, fast enough not to look too foreign to these streets but not too fast. The town hall was vacant, the deatheaters not stupid enough to use the same place. It was a sign that they were worried. They knew this meant the war was not over, not over at all. There was still a fight to be fought, and they weren't necessarily winning.

But the shambles that surrounded her made her doubt that it was worth sending them a signal. Kingsley haunted her every step. She haunted her every step.

_"No one was hurt." _Now, she couldn't be so sure. That window, its curtain had fluttered. There had been life. Where was it now?

Hermione tried not to think too much about it as she continued her walk away from the ruin, making note of the intersections and turning at all the right ones. She led herself away, feeling more and more of the ocean nipping at her cheeks as she neared the coast. It was six blocks of walking, of time to herself to avoid thinking. And she managed it, because her head was so filled with static noise at this point. She couldn't formulate any real thoughts besides "turn here" or "keep going straight" as articulated by her directions.

Six blocks, and she emerged through a tunnel shrouded by trees and just small sprays of light. She was surrounded by a sense of home she had no business feeling. Around her stood erect a village that had missed, just barely, the punch of its attackers. It looked untouched, by them or by time. A church made of brick to one side of her and a grand wall of seasoned forestry to the other side. In front of her, a street row of hushed pubs and terrace houses that greeted her secretly; and just past them, down below would be the harbor, and the grayed ocean beyond.

But her eyes honed back into the village of Dawes Point, the place Viktor had sent her to. The place she held in her hand.

She pulled out the piece of crippled paper, tarnished by her excessive folding and unfolding and strangling. She looked at it, and she felt more than saw the words.

_I know you just got my letters from before, and I've said my fill in them, but I miss you still. This isn't going to be a letter about that, though. Even if I'm going to say it enough time to qualify it as a love letter. Sorry in advance._

_We succeeded yesterday, and I'm sure you did too. And that worries me. There'll be something coming for us soon, I don't know how soon, but it's coming so I wanted to send this as soon as I could- which means right away. _

_I know where your parents are. And that's because I tried to find them for you, the moment I finally found you. I would say sorry for keeping it from you, but I feel I should apologize for giving this to you instead. So, I'm sorry, but I'm telling you where they are._

_Because you deserve to know, and to protect them just as much as I wanted to when I looked for you after the war broke out. If something goes wrong, you need to know so you can keep them safe, because that's all you've ever wanted to do. And I know you're going to fight this, you're going to want to tear this up or throw it away before you read the enclosed address (it's at the very bottom, so don't peek!), but I'm telling you not to. If you do one thing for me, you won't throw this away._

_Even if you don't look for them now, keep this so you can when this is all over._

_I love you, and I hope you're safe. Write back when everything is clear, okay?_

_Viktor._

_79 Lower Fort Street_

_Dawes Point, New South Wales_

The words were getting hard to read, and she wasn't sure whether it was because of how wrinkled the paper was, or whether it was the rattling, or whether it was the glistening in her eyes. She blinked, took a deep breath, and shoved the paper back in her pocket.

She glanced at the street signs and slowly made her way, dragging her concrete feet down the sloped road of Lower Fort Street. Past the church, where she heard the whisper of prayer from those inside. She wasn't alone on the streets, either. People, though sparse, walked close to the fences of the houses on either side, remaining in the shadow of trees, but they were there. They made their way, a dignity in their step because they'd felt a change. There was a change in the weather, in the shrouding darkness, though slight it was. It was enough of a promise that they could move around, and even if it wasn't they did it anyways.

Hermione searched the faces, but none were familiar.

And then, she was there. Her feet crunched too loudly on the fallen leaves in front of 79 Lower Fort Street. Her eyes, pasted to the concrete sidewalk, slowly lifted to see the white picket fence, the gate slightly ajar. Her mother would have hated that.

She could almost hear the small scolding of her father. 

_"It takes two seconds to close it all the way, Robert," her mother would say with a huff after coming back in with the post._

_"But those two seconds could be used to kiss you hello," he would say slyly with a small smile, placing a ginger kiss on her cheek. She imagined giving a small protest of her own, and her father would reply with a kiss on her cheek as well._

There was a creak of a door, and Hermione jumped, quickly making her way to the next house and standing suggestively in front of that gate, as if making to open it. She heard the close sounds of footsteps, and the murmur of chatter.

"Will, the gate. It's not even a hook," a woman sighed. The voice sung to Hermione, and she heard in it the soothing notes of a mother, her mother. She tried not to look, but she did anyways. Her eyes drank in the face of her mom; the strong features worn with age but graceful all the same. It was still her, the mother who had tucked her in at night and told her when she was little that there was nothing to be afraid of when everything Hermione did set something off with magic. She was still the woman who loved her father. She was smiling at him as he said something about leaving it open for guests they both knew wouldn't come.

He looked tired, but his eyes were young when they fell on his wife. Hermione's throat tightened against a cry, to call them to her.

They were only a fence length away from her.

But they went on, heading towards the church without a single glance her way. Because she was a stranger to them, and strangers were to be avoided. She should have been proud of them for rushing off to where they were heading, following the cover just as any other precautious villager was. But she wasn't. She wanted them so desperately to have looked at her, to ask who she was and why she was there.

At least they were alive.

It wasn't enough for her.

Her feet took her where she shouldn't have gone. She made her way into their home, and ran her hands over their things. Will and Sonya's things, Robert and Amelia's things. Her parent's things. She felt their hands under her hands as she held onto a cup left on their table, still with a bit of morning joe inside it. Everything was so clean of dust, yet she tried hard to find fingerprints that let her know they lived here, lived here properly despite the havoc deatheaters tried to cause on their lives.

She sat on their couch, and imagined having a small conversation about their patients that day. They wouldn't understand her, because they no longer had patients. They weren't dentists here, were they? No. They wouldn't be. She'd made them a retired couple, to keep them inside. Keep them safe.

She breathed in her mother's perfume from the pillows on that couch, that familiar flowery scent filling her with memories of days that she'd sit in front of her mother's vanity and play with the things there. She'd try to make herself pretty every once in a while, trying to comb her mane, only for her mother to come in and laugh at Hermione's struggling. Only for her mother to help her when she started to cry, to tell her that one day she'd come to love her hair because it was a beautiful part of her. Then, she would spray that same perfume she always wore on her, and Hermione would feel so much better because she was covered in her mother's embrace.

And now, she was hoping to achieve that once more.

But the scent was not as strong.

It wasn't enough.

And she found herself outside, retracing their steps as if their footprints were highlighted on the sidewalk. She was desperate, so much more now that they were so close than before when she stood on patrol with just her thoughts or when she sat in bed after a meeting discussing protecting everyone but them. She was desperate to hear their voices, not just addressing one another but her. And she convinced herself that that, that would be enough.

So, she stood in front of that church, under the canopy of a tree fighting against the coming winter as it clung to its leaves in the subtle breeze. She heard that murmur once more, but it was a nudge louder this time. There were more people inside, and she could just make them out through the break in the door. And then her mother was there, fixing that gap as she always did, but before she went to close it her mother looked at her.

Her eyes had found Hermione's, and they were so filled with warmth and kindness that she was able to trick herself into thinking, just for a moment that Sonya knew she wasn't truly Sonya. That she was someone else, and that someone else had a daughter who was standing right in front of her. That even though she was wearing the costume of another stranger on a strange road she didn't belong on, the woman before her was her daughter and her name was Hermione Granger.

"Are you coming in?" Sonya asked softly, cautiously. She didn't seem afraid of the new face, but she didn't recognize it. No, there was no spark of acknowledgement in her eyes. Just kindness.

She was holding the door open a bit wider, inviting. Behind her, Hermione saw the outlines of others, sitting in the pews. There were so many, it caught her for a moment and distracted her from her own mission.

She found herself saying "yes." 

Hermione drifted up the steps, though she couldn't feel the slabs of concrete beneath her. The closer she got to her mother, the calmer her heart got until it almost stopped completely when she came beside her.

She smelled the jasmine perfume, and Hermione had to keep her mouth sealed against words that needed saying, but just couldn't.

"Come along, then," her mom chimed with a small smile. "Can't be too close to the door for too long, wouldn't want to rouse any of those terrorists." With that, a small, strong hand was on Hermione's back to urge her forward when all she wanted to do was press against it until the hand became arms and she was inside a long needed embrace. 

Her legs moved again, walking forward until she was seated beside a quiet woman and her own children who slept on her lap. She was with her eyes shut, a sob caught in her throat and ash on her face.

"Which part are you from, dear?" Her mother asked, standing in front of her now. Hermione's eyes went directly to her face, even though she was beginning to wonder about her father.

She drank the sight of her mother in.

"What?"

"You must still be in shock. I asked what part you were from?" The attacks, she must have been asking about that. Glancing around again, Hermione realized why there were so many people, and why others, kind others, were handing out supplies or offering consolation as her mother was. This was a refugee camp.

And, no doubt, Hermione looked in need of help.

"I'm from," she started, raking her mind for a place. "The Rocks," she mustered, remembering the map briefly enough to catch a name.

"Oh," was the reply. Hermione's mother looked puzzled. "You're the first then."

"I'm actually looking for someone from another area," Hermione quickly corrected. "I heard about the attacks and I worried so I came here." She was getting too close to the truth.

"Who?"

"You wouldn't know her," Hermione mumbled feebly. Her mother smiled sweetly, brokenly. 

"I can try to find her for you, if she lives here. I'm sure I know," she tried to help. Hermione wanted too much, as she searched her mother's eyes, for there to be a recognition. Maybe, just maybe, if she said the right words…

"No, that's alright. I think I know where I can find her." It came out strangled, and the look of concern on her mother's face was enough to break her down completely but she fought against it somehow. And her mother tried to comfort her with a firm grip of the shoulder before leaving her side to go to the woman beside her who was openly sobbing now.

It turns out, she'd lost her husband in an explosion. Hermione tried not to remember the crumpled houses she'd walked past to get to this village.

She tried not to remember how she didn't belong here, because she'd caused this.

Hermione almost felt a zap from the pew beneath her, like everything was telling her to leave. And she did. She got up, against her will, and drifted right out of the church without so much as trying to find her father in the midst. If she did, she wouldn't have been able to open those heavy wooden doors and walk down those very concrete steps and go into the emptied street. 

She wouldn't have been able to keep her lips sealed against the names of her parents, or the name of her mother's perfume, or that they were dentists and her mother really hated gaps because she used to have gaps between her teeth, or that she always hummed when she was working on a patient to make sure they were calm and felt like their own mother was doing the work, or that she was their daughter who they should have remembered even if she was the one who took all these things away from them.

Even if she didn't want them to remember, because that was dangerous. Or, because they would hate her for taking it away from them. Or, because they didn't want to remember. Maybe they were happy now, helping others as they always did, fighting in their own way against the terrorists that threatened their village, their home.

She didn't want them to remember, but she needed them to for her own sake.

And it was this greed that kept her in that village. She walked a few paces down the sidewalk, aiming to hide somewhere near their house, when something yanked her into the small pathway besides the church and everything went lurching backwards.

She knew better than to scream, but the moment she'd found her footing again, she was grabbing for her wand. But hands were on her thighs, over her pockets, and burning her skin.

"Wand always at the ready, Granger," the hands had Malfoy's touch and voice. But as quickly as his hands had grabbed her, they were off and she made no delay in getting away from him. And once she was a few feet from his body, she took him in, and how he was actually there in front of her. He was there, quiet and frowning.

But she didn't understand how he could logically be there.

"How'd you find me?" 

"I followed you, and when you apparated it didn't take too much guess-work," he shrugged in response.

She almost laughed. "You couldn't have, I'm in disguise. How could you tell it was me, and not just someone going out on patrol?"

"You forgot your eyes," nonchalant, as if it were an obvious mistake. "You're bad at this, Granger."

Now she scoffed. "They're brown. It's not as if they have neon coloring. You couldn't possibly tell-"

"But, obviously I did."

"You're lying. You were spying on me earlier, weren't you?"

He scowled, rolling his eyes. "Honestly. No, I wasn't. I saw you leaving, you didn't match up to anyone I'd seen before, and your eyes were familiar. They just were, okay?"

Silence. He was glaring at the ground and she stood, awkward, against the brick wall behind her.

"Why'd you follow me?" She asked softly. 

"You shouldn't have left," changing the subject. She grit her teeth.

"I didn't know I had to ask your permission to see my parents. It's none of your business anyway-"

"I meant last night," he cut in roughly, though his voice was low. He sighed, breaking his match with the ground to watch her face as she registered his meaning. She gapped, and felt a sudden cold.

And she couldn't really say anything. Not with him staring at her, waiting for her to admit she was wrong in running away or to challenge her for saying otherwise. She felt the currents of confusion when she thought about it actually hurting him, to say she had to get away. Because why would he be hurt?

She closed her mouth with an audible "click", shutting any opportunity to sprout excuses off.

He cleared his throat. "Did you find them?"

"My parents? Yeah," she felt strangled as she tried to swallow.

"They're okay?" She nodded.

"Did they see you?" He asked, and immediately she grimaced, offended.

"Just my mother," she grumbled, folding her arms defensively in front of her. Trying to find some way to block him out, but his eyes would always see her. "But she didn't recognize me, so it's not a big deal."

"I wasn't going to ask that," he retreated.

"Of course you were," she retorted, though the attack was on herself. Again, silence. Her eyes snuck to the gap in the walls, where the street was, where she wanted her parents to walk this one last time before Malfoy inevitably told her she needed to leave.

"But she did recognize you," she heard him say. And she was rigid, standing away from the wall and glaring at him.

"I knew what I was doing when I- when I did what I did, Malfoy."

He was shaking his head, moving away from his wall and into her space. She backed up, and he frowned.

"It doesn't matter what you did. And it's not your fault. She's your mother. I know I wouldn't really forget. Even if I couldn't remember, I would still know. I would always know the one I love," Malfoy soothed, though his words did anything but calm her nerves. Her heart scattered inside her, but she couldn't seem to look away from the gray pools of his eyes. And she understood then, how she would always recognize his eyes no matter what shape his face came in.****

Before she could reply, she heard the church doors open and a rush of hushed voices pour out from the sanctuary. She whipped around to see her parents diverge from the group, turning down the street and entering her line of vision. Again, she saw them but they didn't even sense her presence.

But, despite the heaviness that settled in the pit of her, the soft folding of a hand around hers made the burden a little lighter to carry.


	15. Chapter 15

_The light from the reception wrapped around Hermione as she stood just outside of the tent, feeling all sorts of sickly. As happy as she was for Bill and Fleur, for some beam of bliss that their wedding encapsulated for the cause, she couldn't stop seeing, in the security of their wedding rings, the shimmering reflection of her parents. They were somewhere between London and Australia, with no recollection that their marriage had spawned a child, who would go to a school for witchcraft. Though, after this summer, Hermione wouldn't be going back to Hogwarts. This summer was the beginning of something drastically beyond her comfort zone, and she had not a single cushion between her and the hot coal she was forced to walk on. _

_In the newlyweds held hands, she saw something she probably would never have._

_"Hermione, hey, what are you doing standing out there? Creepy, don't you think?" Ron asked as he approached her, his hands tucked into the wrinkled pockets of his black pants. He lit up at the sight of his family altogether, and there was a slight red rush sprawling from his nose that let her know he'd been having something a bit stronger than firewhiskey. Even if he couldn't see through the haze of cheer, she motivated herself to look less like she was at a funeral and put on a jeering smile._

_"I could say the same about the gown you're wearing, Ron," she shot back as she brushed past him into the reception, immediately feeling overwhelmed by the amount of people laughing, so easily able to press pause on the distress just outside the thin fabric of the celebratory tent. _

_Ron opened his mouth to fight back, his freckled cheeks flushing darker. "It's not- It's not a gown," he grumbled, tugging at the collar of his hand-me-down tuxedo._

_She held back a laugh as the two of them moved through the crowd, enveloped in the sounds of clinking drinks and chattering friends. Somewhere, in the midst of bustling heads, she spotted Harry's tousled hair torpedoing towards a distinctively red batch of hair. And again, she felt her stomach cringe._

_"Ron, would you mind fetching a drink for me? I'm a bit lightheaded so I'm going to sit down," Hermione excused herself as she made a beeline for the nearest, discarded table; there were many to pick from as everyone decided to take part of the dancing. Finally alone, she slipped into a chair and busied her mind by playing with the utensils in front of her._

_She was permitted to have peace for exactly seven seconds, before being accosted._

_The tap on her shoulder was expected, of course, and she turned with a hand raised for the expected drink Ron was supposed to bring her, only for it to be secured in a strong hold and, without warning, a kiss danced across her wrist. Flustered, Hermione looked up to see Viktor Krum smiling down at her, his lips slanted just enough to the left to remind her of something, someone, very different. _

_It made her sick again._

_But, she tried not to let it show. She gave a ginger, welcoming smile. "Viktor, it's been a while," she greeted._

_"So, it has. I hope you don't mind me asking, but I saw you here alone and decided I had to ask you for a dance. Just one, for old time's sake. If it's not too much, Hermione," he crooned. And something felt peculiar, familiar about him, something she couldn't quite pinpoint. It started with the way he held her hand, the warmth it gave her skin, and the smile she hadn't seen in so long, and it ended in the lightness and ease with which her name fell from his lips._

_She found herself smiling back and, this time, it was effortlessly._

_With a quick glance to the food table to see of Ron's progress, and seeing that the twins were doing their best at harassing him, Hermione found herself clear for a dance._

_She met his awaiting gaze. "Why not? If memory serves me right, you managed not to step on any toes last time we danced," she replied sweetly. Viktor's smile wavered as hers strengthened but, nonetheless, his grip on her hand tightened and he led her to the dance floor._

_And once they arrived, it seemed he'd lost his bearings. His hands didn't know where to go, and Hermione watched with a rising amusement. He frowned, settling for just above her waist, barely grazing her skin, and they were at arm's length from one another. Hermione tried to snuffle a laugh, and hid it under her smile. Her hands, placed politely on his shoulders, moved down to his own to his surprise._

_"Oh, come now. I remember us being much closer than this," she mused, and she watched as he fought a frown, confusion flitting through his eyes and furrowed brow. Her hands moved his, smoothly guiding them over the fabric of her dress to the curve of her hips. And once she'd found their position pleasing, she moved herself closer to his tense body. _

_"I just thought that time would have made us a bit more formal," Viktor muttered, though his hands naturally held onto her. She could just detect his fingers twitching, as if to fight the urge to pull her even closer. Hermione bit her lip, holding back the giddiness she was suddenly experiencing after such a tedious hiatus from this._

_"Oh, but this just rekindles fond memories, does it not? I've missed this," she murmured, moving even closer so as to rest her head on his shoulder. The ease with which they danced, swaying from side to side, made her sigh contently. Her hand gripped his shoulder blade and she could feel herself being lulled into a sense of security, her eyes closed to focus on his closeness. Despite his earlier unease, his body was melting under her touch, and while one arm was affectionately wrapped about her waist, the other had found her hand and took it without any intention to let it go._

_She felt the welcomed press of his cheek against her hair._

_"It does. It was a bit different then, though. Your hair pulled back to frame your face. Your dress that night was just as lovely as this one, though you looked much happier then. But all of that blanched against the light on your face when you smiled as you came down those stairs," he sighed against her hair, and she felt the sting of tears behind her closed eyelids._

_"Wow," she tried not to sound too shaken. "I didn't think you'd remember that much."_

_And he was quiet; his body suddenly rigid against hers as if he'd realized something. "I, well, I have photographic memory. It's not that impressive, really," he backtracked. She buried her face into his chest to snuff out her smile._

_"I must say otherwise. Photographic memory is just as impressive. It's like I'm falling in love with you all over again," she teased. _

_He stopped dancing altogether._

_"I thought he was just a crush," he broke, and when she looked up at him with a cheeky grin on her face, he realized what he'd just said. "I mean me. I thought I was just a crush," he stammered._

_"For someone who's able to get through so much security, you sure are rusty on details, Draco," Hermione prodded, her grin widening as the fraud took it all in. He scowled, glaring at her._

_"How long did you know it was me?" He muttered, bitter. She tried not to make him feel any worse, but she couldn't help but give into the laugh that had been lodged in her throat._

_"Since you said my name. Viktor could never pronounce it correctly," Hermione admitted with a shrug._

_He didn't look convinced. "I could've been anyone," he retorted. "How could you know it was me, and not someone ready to slaughter you?"_

_She shrugged again, and it was beginning to irk him. "I felt it. The way you held yourself, very Malfoy-like."_

_His glare hardened. "Am I supposed to apologize for my proper upraising?" _

_Hermione shook her head, laughing. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot Viktor was raised by wolves," she scoffed._

_It was strange, watching Draco roll his eyes in a different form, but she could feel him beneath the disguise. If she focused long enough, she could smell his cologne, and his body would form from the crooked curve of his lips. Behind it, she could see the gray of his eyes, and the pride with which he held himself. She could see her Draco, where no one else could._

_And, by the looks of his contorted face, he didn't know whether to be pleased by this or extremely aggravated at being found out._

_"If we continue to stand here, people will start to wonder, or bump into us," Hermione mentioned, her lips pursed against another grin that would upset Draco even further. He sighed, but they began dancing once more. _

_She watched him and, slowly, she saw his agitation fall away. He glanced down at her, and despite the brown eyes he was looking through, she felt the piercing cool of gray. _

_"I missed you," she breathed, months of pent up worry and need rushing out of her and leaving her weightless. The only thing keeping her there were his hands, sturdy and promising. His forehead touched hers and she closed her eyes to see him. She was there with him, he in his black, sleek tuxedo and she in her red dress and annoying heels that had been bothering her until he'd guided her to the floor. His blonde locks were falling against her forehead, tickling her skin with their smoothness and lightness, reminding her of silk. And the hand around hers was pale, and she was planning on teasing him about hiding from the sun._

_"I missed you, too. So much," he struggled to return through a clenched throat. He guided their entwined hands to his chest, placing them against his racing heart. And she felt at home as she danced with him, slowly despite the music changes. She was highly aware of his touch, of the strength in the flex of his arm around her waist that promised to keep her there come hellfire, of the slowing pace of his heart against their held hands that matched her own steady beating after finding one another, and of the home he gave her when she thought she'd lost it. And they let each other drink in that stolen moment of being there, together at a wedding, after being away from home for too long. Hermione had thought that after watching Draco's back as he left with the deatheaters the day Dumbledore died, she would never see him again. But, here he was despite the form he was in._

_Though, that did raise questions._

_"Where's Krum?" She asked, glancing around the room. She felt Draco's chest vibrate with laughter._

_"He's fine, sleeping in the house, if you can call that a h-"_

_"Draco," she warned wearily._

_"I'll wake him up when I'm done here. He'll remember dancing with you and then leaving to get a stain off his shirt," he sighed in explanation. And there it was, the predestined goodbye. It made her veins run cold._

_"Why are you here?" She asked reluctantly. He was quiet for a moment, his hold on her growing tighter, though they both knew he was going to let go._

_"Your parents," Draco started and she automatically made to move as her heart lurched, but he pulled her closer. "Hey, hey, they're okay, Hermione," he soothed. "They're okay. I made sure to cover any tracks. They're okay, I wanted to let you know that. They're okay."_

_She buried her face into his chest, breathing him in. "You could have sent a letter. You didn't come for that," she countered grimly._

_He gave a meek laugh. "Always," he sighed. "What if I said I came here because I wanted to see if you'd give into Prince Charming here?" _

_Hermione looked up into Draco's eyes, brown with Krum's DNA but still his. She frowned. "You cannot be that ridiculously jealous. And don't even say you came to say hello. I won't buy it."_

_He sneered. "Of course you wouldn't. But I did, partly, come to see you. Though, I have to say this is ridiculous. I'd much rather dance with you in my own skin," he grumbled, and Hermione was aware more so of how for him, it wasn't really his hands touching her._

_"Draco, I'm dancing with you. Not Viktor."_

_"But you are pretty comfortable with this form," he whined bitterly. "Besides, what's with this 'Viktor' crap? That doesn't seem very formal."_

_Hermione sighed. "He's still a friend of mine, and I'm good at improvising. I'd rather have you in this form than in none at all."_

_"That's comforting. Yet another male 'friend'. Tell me, was Ron also a conquest of yours at some point too?"_

_"Don't give me this. Not now. I don't have time to be doubted by the one person I thought trusted me. You'd think after everything, you would give me some credit. Especially since I'm not the one who went back on my word," Hermione steamed, pulling away from Draco enough to give herself some space to breathe. He was frowning again, and she could see him repenting. She almost felt bad for saying what she did._

_"I don't want to fight," he muttered. She glared at him._

_"Then don't moan. I understand you don't like it, but I don't like it either. I miss __**you,**__ I love __**you."**_

_Just a hint of a genuine smile formed on his lips. She tried to picture his face with that smile, and it made her anger ebb away._

_"And I want __**you **__to tell me why you're here," she nudged, though she was surely not going to like the news he bore, if he came in person to deliver it. The tension in his fingers against her spine, around her own fingers, told her as much._

_His smile vanished, and his eyes glanced down at their feet for a moment before reaching hers again as he pulled her back. And despite how much she loved being near him, she knew the proximity was to secure their conversation._

_"I need you to promise not to make a fuss," Draco replied, seriously. _

_She darted a glare his way. "Of course I won't make a fuss."_

_"Like you aren't right now?" He asked sarcastically, a hint of a laugh on his lips when she puffed up. She gave a sigh of resignation._

_"I promise. Now, spill."_

_His eyes ran over the room, making sure once more that no one was paying them any mind._

_"The ministry is being attacked." Hermione fought the urge to freeze or flee to grab the others, as all her nerves told her to._

_"And we can't prevent it," she recognized._

_"No, I wouldn't suggest even going near the place. I barely found out about it in time to come here. It seems the Malfoy name has yet to be cleared all the way despite all I've-we've been through," he snapped and coldness ran through both of them._

_"Draco," she started or, more so, commenced the conversation she'd tried to have with him what had seemed ages ago, outside Hogwarts as he ran away with the deatheaters. As he had back then, he ran away from her reassurances._

_"Don't, Hermione. Please. I'm not here for that," he struggled to get out, coughing. "The ministry is just the first part. They'll be coming here."_

_Now he had to physically restrain her from leaving to grab Harry._

_"No, Hermione, please."_

_"I'm not going to let them just come in here and attack my friends," she hissed, though she stopped struggling against his steel grip._

_"If you all are suddenly missing from a wedding reception, what do you think the dark lord will conclude? Coincidence?" He reasoned, eying her._

_She pursed her lips, her head growing hot. "No, he'll think there's an informant. But what am I supposed to do? Dance until all hell breaks loose?" She scoffed._

_He almost laughed at her anger, and he struggled to snuff the smile riding his lips. Now wasn't the time, though he missed these moments like crazy._

_"Am I so bad a dancer?"_

_"Draco," she warned, tiredly. He nodded off her inability to make humor out of the situation._

_"No, I don't expect you to do nothing. Gather Weasel and Potty, but try to be conspicuous about it. I was going to give you a speech about being prepared and pack a bag for you but I'm sure you haven't changed much since I last saw you."_

_"And who would I be if I wasn't always prepared? I've had my purse packed for weeks."_

_She finally smiled up at him and for a moment, they were simply just enjoying each other's company. But reality was a cruel wall between them. His hold on her hand slipped._

_And hers tightened._

_"Not yet, don't go. You don't have to," she pleaded. His eyes were failing to hide the truth from her, as they slipped their brown façade and began transforming into the gray she adored. He didn't want to leave, not really._

_"I need to, Hermione. I can't just let my disguise disintegrate and cheer 'surprise'," he replied wearily, though his body clung to hers desperately._

_She tried to smile, but it felt heavy. "You can hide out at the Burrow and come with me when I leave."_

_"With those two baboons? I don't think so," he half-heartedly joked._

_Her hand left his shoulder and found the curves of his face, held them and memorized them as she had done many times before. He closed his eyes at her touch, buried his cheek in her hand. _

_Maybe, just maybe._

_"Please," Hermione tried again. "Once I tell them all you've done for me, all you've done for us, they'll forgive you. Draco, you can leave that place and come with me." Her voice cracked as she felt him clench his jaw against her hand, shake his head._

_He opened his eyes, fully his own now, and she felt a brief shudder go through his skin. He was running out of time._

_"I can't. Think about it, I'll just be another target on your back. At least where I am, I can try to help from the inside. Keep you safe."_

_"But I want to keep you safe, too. We can figure it out together," she was clinging to worn out straws. And he almost looked ready to give in, his eyes searching hers with a yearning to stay._

_He held her to him, buried his face into her hair. "God, I want to kiss you," he sighed, a strangled laugh in his throat. She smiled against his chest, squeezing her eyes and imagining such a kiss, so long overdue. She held his hand even tighter._

_"This is me, kissing you," she whispered as she squeezed his hand warmly, stroking the outline of his fingers. He breathed her in, allowing himself to receive the kiss, before sending his own that left her hand aching for more._

_"I hate this stupid disguise."_

_"You should wear it more often, actually," Hermione shot lightly, and she felt the heavenly laugh rise through him before he sighed, his hand slipping out of hers to wrap around her waist._

_"I miss you," he breathed, his arms cutting off her breathing with his fearsome hug, but she didn't care. She had to cherish this because he was going to leave her, again. _

_But not really, not fully._

_"We'll see each other soon," she reassured him, reassured herself as she clutched his shoulders, felt him changing beneath her fingertips. And she tried not to worry that this change wasn't just from the polyjuice potion. Every day he was away from her, drinking out of the hands of the devil, she worried for him. _

_"I love you," he said instead of goodbye, because that alternative was too painful._

She woke up, her inwards falling as she felt him leave her side, only to feel the reassuring warmth of another's hand in her own, a shoulder under her head.

_This is me, kissing you._

Light poured into her pupils, making her flinch, but she left her head where it was; she was scared of moving, knowing acutely who she'd slept on and wondering whether he was sleeping too. His steady breathing was slow, so maybe he was.

She tried to reason that she didn't want to move because she didn't want to disturb his nap.

They were in the park, on a hill overlooking her parents' neighborhood. The sky was painted with dusk and the air filled with the dull chime of the church bells announcing the hour. No one was out in the village, and the only light from the houses came from beneath heavy curtains. It had been the afternoon and, after making sure her parents had gone back to their house, they'd walked hand in hand to the park without saying much. She remembered sitting down beside him on a bench, dismally recalled saying something about watching over the village for a little while before swiftly blacking out from lack of sleep last night. And now, she was with her head on his shoulder, and her fingers still securely entwined with his own. And her cheeks flushed hot red, her body filled with warmth that countered the evening breeze as the sun started to set.

_This is me, kissing you._

"About time you woke up," Draco said gruffly, jolting Hermione. She hastily sat up, but couldn't bother to let go of his hand. They'd been holding hands for a while, and he hadn't minded. And she didn't mind. Though she should have.

"You weren't asleep?" She asked, clearing her throat and adjusting her hair.

She caught him looking at her, and he was hiding a smile. "No, of course not. I had to keep watch, like we'd planned to do, remember? You're lucky the apocalypse didn't happen. I'm sure you wouldn't have woken up if Merlin himself came to give you his blessings," he retorted, and she scowled at him.

"If you'd tried to wake me up, I would have," she huffed in reply. He snorted, glancing back down at her parents' house. The dream came back to her and she wondered, studying his profile as he watched with unobligated concern for her family. He had no reason to worry about their safety. And yet, he did.

She bit her lip, troubled. These hallucinations- these memories, as she was coming to accept them to be, were confusing her, making her want things she shouldn't want. And his hand felt too natural a fit to hers.

"Well, since you've finally risen from your grave, we should get back to camp," Draco cut into her confusion, and he caught her staring at him. She didn't even have the decency to look away, and neither did he. It felt like a challenge, to see who would back down first. She wasn't sure if looking away would be winning, or losing.

"Yes, right. We should," she replied with a small nod as she got up. This was the time to let go, she realized, and she tried. She really did. She loosened her fingers enough to let them slip away from his, and yet as she moved so did he. And their fingers seemed glued together, and she didn't want to really let go because if she did she would have pulled away. But she didn't dare. Because she felt at home.

And if she'd had the courage to look back at him, instead of the ground ahead of her, Hermione would have seen how determined Draco was to keep her hand in his. Because he felt at home too.

* * *

There is a brief time after waking that one remembers their dream, so vividly and wistfully, that they cling onto it for dear life because they know how brief it really is. Usually, it's hard to keep hold of them long enough to write it down or tell it to someone else before it eventually slips away. Sometimes, it dissipates almost instantaneously. And then there are other times, where it feels like the dream never really ended.

But, one way or another, reality finds its way in.

It was as Hermione and Draco were walking through the forest that this moment came to being. Hermione was growing more and more aware of the crunch of leaves beneath her feet instead of the loud chatter of a reception hall, of the trees around her instead of the tent flaps, and the approaching campsite instead of a dance floor. She was acutely aware of the large hand holding onto hers, and how it felt so dreamlike that it had to go away at some point. Because dreams have expiration dates.

"Malfoy," Hermione started, her feet suddenly coming to a stop and yanking Draco back. Still, he kept his hand in hers. He raised his eyebrows in question. "Malfoy, what is this?"

"What is what?" He asked, feigning ignorance. She huffed, frustrated. She raised their hands.

"What are we doing?"

He sneered. "I believe its called holding hands. Honestly, this is what I was competing with in school?"

Hermione frowned, her hand finally wiggling out of his grasp. Draco's grin faltered.

"If you're trying to avoid catching a disease, it's a bit late for that," he half-heartedly joked. The humor didn't reach his eyes.

Feeling strangely hollow, Hermione fiddled with her hands. She already didn't like how unoccupied they were.

"Malfoy, what are we doing? I don't- I'm trying to figure out your angle but I have no clue as to why you're trying so hard to win me over," she rambled, her frustration making her fidget. His own unease only fueled hers, and she avoided the hardened look in his eyes.

"Angle? My angle? What was my angle when I slept with you, you mean? Or, holding your hand? Or, trying to protect you?" Draco seethed, shaking his head at her.

"I don't need protection," she retorted lamely, her eyes fumbling for a place to focus on besides him.

Draco scoffed. "No, of course not. That's not the point. I want to do these things, Hermione," he shot back, and her eyes snapped onto his; hot, molten gray turning her insides into gunk. Her heart felt disoriented.

But he wasn't finished. He gave a humorless laugh. "You know, it's just like you to try and find some ulterior motive. But, for once, I don't really have one besides trying to get you to warm up to me."

"But, why?" She muttered, searching him for an answer that was blatantly in front of her. "Why now, why me? After all these years of consistently hating me, you decide you want me to 'warm up' to you?"

He sighed haggardly and ran a hand through his hair. It made it messy, silver locks tumbling all over and capturing her attention. She imagined how they would feel against her forehead.

He glanced down at the ground and he heaved in a deep breath. "Because I'm selfish, and I want what I want. I want to hold your hand. I want to protect you, I want to kiss you. I want you. I want to prove that, okay? I never fathomed I would ever want you, but I do and I don't really understand it but I do. Ever since you attacked my home, I've felt this strange desire driving me forward, to you. I feel like there's this thing between us. And I want it, whatever it is," he asserted, moving closer to her with each confident statement. He was breathless and, as if she depended on his air, so was she.

"What if I don't want it?" She heaved, though they both knew it was a lie the second it left her mouth. His lips were taking on that crooked, dreamy smile. And she felt the need, the want to be close to him, and to kiss that smile.

"Too bad," he replied heavily, his breath falling on her cheeks. And she could smell that cologne from her dream, her memory. And she swore she could hear his heart pacing.

She felt his hand searching for hers, his fingertips bristling against hers and coercing her to bend to his will.

_This is me, kissing you._

Maybe this dream didn't have to end just yet.

But there was no stopping reality. There was a rustling of bush and, without a second thought, Hermione shoved her hands in her pockets. Draco's jaw clenched and he turned along with her to see who'd decided to wake Hermione up.

A wave of red hair burst through the scenery, and revealed Ginny's glowing face. It fell slightly when it caught the two of them, her smile holding a question between her lips.

"Heard people yelling, so I figured it was you two coming back from scouting," she explained before either one of them could open their mouths. She seemed at home within Australia's woodlands, despite it not being her station.

"Ginny? Why are you here?" Hermione asked, confused witless. Ginny's smile simply widened.

"Your birthday, silly. A few weeks late, but we're here to celebrate," her friend explained as she moved forward to grab Hermione's hands. Hermione fought the urge to pull them back.

"And, by 'we', you mean?" Draco interjected, earning a scowl from Ginny.

"The crew. All the Weasleys and Viktor are here to congratulate our fearless leader on being nineteen and kicking forty-year-old deatheater asses," Ginny chimed, leading Hermione past the last few landmarks that led to the campsite, which was naturally a swarm with people ready to take a break from the cause to have a good time.

And in the midst of it all was the man of the hour, Viktor, smiling and waiting for Hermione to join him for a dance.


End file.
